


Old and New, Borrowed and Blue

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [46]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M, marriage fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid is bored and restless at home while he’s recovering.   Hotch plans a surprise wedding for Reid.  Reid misunderstands what Hotch is up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Anticipation     1 - Distractions

Prologue – Anticipation 

(January)

 

“Mr. Hotchner? I need you to stand over here. Mr. Hotchner?”

The tiny nurse in blue scrubs pushed Hotch physically out of her way, because he was frozen in place right in her path, paralyzed by the horror of not knowing what to do, where to go, how to help. It was absolute agony for Hotch to listen to the pain-filled screams of the woman on the delivery table and not know how to help her. His pain was nothing compared to what she was going through, obviously, but he ached for her and wanted to help. 

The nurse seemed to understand Hotch’s hesitation though. She lifted Hotch’s hand, and put it into the hand of the screaming woman. Hotch focused on the woman’s face, her disheveled dark hair, her brown eyes wild with agony. 

“This is NOT WORKING!!” Hon screamed, writhing, clenching Hotch’s hand, his arm, clutching his elbow, pulling him almost down to face level. “It’s not working. It’s not working. It’s not working,” she gasped desperately. “The baby must be stuck. Is he stuck? Take a look,” she begged Hotch. 

Aaron flushed with embarrassment but moved to obey her. He took a nervous peek past one raised knee, seeing a few curls of blond hair nestled directly under Hon’s own dark pubic hair. The blond curls adorned the very top of the small head which was appearing between Hon’s wide-spread legs. It wasn’t magical – it was scary. It was terrifying to see any person in this position. It didn’t look comfortable, or appropriate, or at all polite. Hotch realized he was gawping, but he simply couldn’t stop. The nurse pushed him out of her way again, and put him right back at Hon’s side, near the head of the table. 

“The baby isn’t stuck. Your contractions are perfectly normal. Your dilation is perfectly normal as well. The baby is beginning to crown,” the nurse murmured, leaning in and quickly backing away again when Hon took a swing at her. 

“What the hell would you know?! HOTCH!!! Make it stop. Make the pain stop. Please, Hotch! I …. I need something for the pain!”

Hotch would have given Hon anything she wanted at that point, legal or illegal, because her pain was causing him pain, and he wanted it to stop for both their sakes. The head nurse had other plans though. 

“We can’t give you any pain meds until the doctor arrives to assess your condition. She’ll decide how much of what you’ll need,” the nurse replied. 

“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Hon yelled, her voice suddenly deep and ferocious, feral and frightening. The snarl on her face reminded Hotch that there was but a thin barrier of civilization keeping human beings from returning to their animal state. How often in his own work had he witnessed the aftermath, when a killer looses than brittle veneer? 

“The doctor will be here any minute. We need you to calm down, Mrs. Hotchner, and….” The nurse did her best to soothe. 

“I’M NOT MRS. HOTCHNER! I’M MRS. LARSSON!” Hon howled, clutching tight to Hotch’s arm, putting her head against his chest and shoulder. “I want Pam! I want Pam!” she sobbed. 

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Hotch whispered as he caressed Hon’s hair, and tried to be comforting. His heart ached for Hon as she sobbed. Another contraction tore through her body, and she screamed directly into his ear. 

That had been the moment when Aaron had decided he was ever so glad he had NOT been in the delivery room when Jack had been born. He wasn’t sure he could have seen Haley this raw and this vulnerable, and have ever looked at her the same again. Watching the doctor and the nurses pull Hon’s baby free of her womb, and place his slippery, squirming, screaming, mucous-and-blood covered shape on her naked belly – it had been a horrific and eye-opening experience for Hotch. The delivery of the baby had not been the end of the experience either. It had taken another forty-five minutes to deliver the afterbirth and to stitch up Hon’s injuries, inside and out, repairing her surgical episiotomy – which was essentially a cut made through the flesh from ‘Number One’ to ‘Number Two’ in order to ease the danger of vaginal tears during childbirth. Hotch had seen serial rape and murder victims with less damage than Hon had had to have fixed after the birth of her son! He could not begin to imagine how much that must hurt now, let alone how much that was going to hurt in the days to come.

The whole experience had left him vaguely ashamed. He couldn’t believe how society fully expected every woman to cheerfully submit herself to the pain and the indignity of giving birth, glossing the harsh reality over with apple pie and cute baby clothes and other such cloying bullshit motherhood fantasies. Society brain-washed woman from the time they were little girls, making it seem like this was the end-all and be-all, the only reason for their existence. Anyone who had ever considered having children should be made to stand by in the delivery room and watch a woman give birth. They should be made to understand it was not sunshine and flowers and choirs of angels singing. It was more like the gates of hell were opening, and scrub-clad devils were monitoring the messy expulsion of one of their own into the human world. 

Aaron jolted awake with Hon’s screams echoing in his head. He sat up on the side of the bed and fought to calm himself, afraid he would wake Spencer beside him. As his limbs trembled, he glanced back towards the other side of the bed, only to find Reid wasn’t there. His heart sank with unhappiness. 

Hotch glanced at the clock. 3:17 a.m. He wondered if Spencer was in the bathroom. He stood and tiptoed into the corridor, but didn’t see any beams of light from under the bathroom door down the hall. He went across the landing to the railing, glancing down into the dining room below, wondering if Spencer was in the tv room with the lights off, sleeping on the big leather sofa. He felt horrible that he had rousted Reid from their bed with his tossing and turning. Usually though, Spencer would curl up on the settee at the end of the bed rather than leave the room entirely. Where had Reid gone? 

Aaron went back and sat on the side of the bed. He fluffed his rumpled pillow, feeling bereft without Spencer curled up next to him under the covers. Aaron also felt more than a little ashamed that he was so utterly attached to Reid, both emotionally and sometimes even physically. There were times when he couldn’t bear for Reid to be out of the room, let alone downstairs, or across the city. Hotch shuddered when he thought about being across the country from Reid. He needed to get back to sleep, because he was headed back to work finally. While he was eager to solve murders and take killers off the street, it was tearing Aaron up, knowing that in order to do his job, he would have to leave Reid alone at home, with Trovinger still out there. It was hard to place his faith in the others around Reid who looked after him. Harder still to accept that Reid was a grown adult who could take care of himself. Spencer had taken care of himself from the time he was ten years old, taken care of himself and his mother as well. So he was perfectly capable of keeping himself safe without Hotch standing right by his side, ready to smite whatever foe approached. Really, Aaron chided himself, he knew he was over-reacting, but his instinct to protect reared up without warning when it came to those he loved best – his son and his partner. 

Hotch sighed and closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to return, longing for the covers to rustle, and the mattress to dip, and for those slender arms to slide around his waist. Aaron had drifted off again before he heard the creak on the stairs. But when he did hear it, he was instantly wide awake and filled with joy. Feet touched the hard wood floors. The door drifted open. Hotch lay quiet, and glanced at the clock. Almost 4. 

Cold hands, a button nose, pointed elbows, a knee as sharp as an axe handle – all the parts of Reid that Hotch had been keenly anticipating aligned themselves neatly to him. Kisses dotted the nape of his neck. A chin nestled from behind into the junction between his neck and shoulder, icy cold and rough with stubble. Warm breath caressed his skin. Aaron smiled even as he winced. He rolled over and drew Spencer close, nosing kisses everywhere, reveling in the pure happy joy of having Reid there even while wondering why his partner smelled like the fake pineapple/coconut of the car air freshener, and why he was icy cold, and why he was breathing so excitedly, and why his heart thumping in his throat. None of that mattered. Hotch didn’t care. He had an hour yet to sleep, and his Spencer was back in his arms. All was well. 

Two days to go, Aaron smiled to himself. Only two days to go.

* * *

1 – Distractions

 

“You are. Miles away,” Reid observed quietly, putting a hand on Hotch’s shoulder and steadying himself. He had been attempting to creep up on Aaron in the study, but that hadn’t gone very well. 

“Sit. Sit,” Hotch insisted, poking Reid with a file folder.

“New case?” Spencer asked hopefully. “Back to work. I am so jealous.”

“Not a new case. I was going over the Trovinger information once more,” Aaron replied, folding the file away under several other brown-clad reports which he had dragged home. 

“Could I. Have a peek?” Reid begged. 

“No,” Hotch replied firmly. 

Reid was very disappointed. His eyes scanned the stack hungrily, and his hand moved towards the prize. Aaron anticipated what Spencer was up to, and he reached out and took his hand. Hotch stood up from his chair, turned around, and scooped Reid into his arms, hugging him tight. He kissed Reid’s neck, nosed against his jaw, and whispered words in his ear. 

“Let’s go away this weekend,” Hotch pleaded, sitting down on top of the files so Reid couldn’t pick any up. 

“Go where?” Reid asked. 

"Anywhere. Away,” Hotch replied. He was unconsciously mirroring Reid’s broken speech pattern. 

“I have. Therapy,” Reid protested. 

“You can miss a couple sessions. Just you and me and Jack.”

“Camping?” Reid joked brightly. “No,” he frowned sullenly the next second. 

“Not camping. Just a car ride. We will drive all day Saturday, anywhere the wind takes us. Stop for the night. Come back Sunday,” Hotch pleaded. 

“Whatever it is. That’s bothering you, Aaron. It won’t go away. It will be here. When we get back,” Reid stammered. 

“I know. You’re right,” Hotch sighed. 

“You want. To talk? I am here.” 

“Yeah. But you have too much on your plate to deal with already. I don’t want to burden you with my silly problems.”

“Burden me?” Reid growled. Hotch knew that tone, that pissy, angry, wounded tone, and he knew he shouldn’t have said it that way, but the words were already out there. 

“I didn’t mean….”

“You can be. Such a martyr at times.”

Hotch tugged Spencer between his knees. 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron offered. 

“Is it about. Trovinger?” Reid asked. 

Hotch nodded quietly. 

“Oh, so. I couldn’t possibly understand. What it is you feel. About this case, hmm?” 

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. 

“Don’t worry. It’s going to work out,” Reid promised. The haggard look on Aarons’ face showed every bit of his self doubt. 

“Reid, don't blow smoke up my ass. It’s not working out. There hasn’t been a single sighting of Edward Trovinger since November 27. Nothing. He’s out there, doing who knows what to who knows whom, and we’re never going to locate him. And Davies! Davies!” Hotch growled. “That uncooperative idiot.”

“Don’t be. Angry with her,” Reid pleaded. “She has her reasons.”

“She’s letting a killer go free because of some stupid martyr complex she’s got. She’s sacrificing people’s lives on the altar of her precious principles. That’s what she’s doing.”

“You and her are so alike. But you can’t see that. Or won’t see that,” Reid attempted a faint smile. 

“Let’s go to Assateague. See the wild ponies,” Hotch whispered, running his hands down Reid’s sides and tugging him closer by his hips. 

“In January? Brrrrr,” Reid shivered. 

“Jack loves the ponies. You’re dying for a car ride.”

“Car drive. Not car ride. There is a. Big difference.”

“Where did you go last night?” Hotch asked. 

“Last night?” Reid blinked innocently. 

“You were gone for the longest time. I thought you popped downstairs to sleep in the tv room because I was keeping you awake, tossing and turning. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” Reid lied. “You were. Dreaming. Again. Last night.”

“I dream about the case a lot. Sometimes it’s all I can think about,” Hotch sighed.

“You were not. Dreaming about Trovinger. It was about Hon.” 

“How do you know?” Hotch gasped. 

“You did wake me up. You were. Patting my head. In your sleep. Calling me. Hon. You don’t. Remember? Telling me to breathe. Breathe. Push. Push,” Reid imitated, then laughed softly. “I got out of bed. Because you were keeping me awake. Throwing your arms around. Kicking me in the shins.” 

“I didn’t realize. Sorry.”

“How is. Your godson?” Reid smiled.

“When last I saw him, Hon had him bundled up for the flight to Honolulu. He was a very tiny piece of blue luggage.”

“Yep,” Reid nodded. “How does Hon. Like living in Honolulu?”

“She said she’s happy to be home with her mom. She and James are doing fine. They’re getting settled in.”

“I can’t believe. She named him ‘James Kirk’. Hon is my hero,” Reid grinned. 

“It’s terrible. She shouldn’t have done that. The poor kid is going to get teased his whole life,” Aaron disapproved. 

“Nonsense. It’s a great name. A very solid name. James Kirk. James Aaron Kirk,” Reid beamed proudly. 

“I wish she hadn’t done that either,” Hotch blushed. 

“Look at you. So bashful. You were. Very kind to Hon. She wanted to show you. How much it meant. You are my hero too,” Reid whispered. When Spencer leaned over to smooch Hotch’s cheek, they nearly tumbled off the desk and onto the floor.

“Careful there. So where did you go last night?” Hotch persisted. Reid blatantly ignored the question. 

“Let me. See his picture again?” Reid asked. Hotch sorted through piles on the desk until he found his phone. He thumbed through screens until he found the picture Reid wanted to see – tiny newborn James Aaron Kirk, with a blue stocking hat pulled down to his blond eyebrows. He was frowning and making a fist.

“Here,” Hotch said, and a smile did creep onto his face once more as he studied the small screen with Reid. 

Reid whispered, “I cannot understand the attraction. Bald. Wrinkly. Sour expression. All babies look this way. Why do we keep making them. To continue as a species, I realize, but why? They are noisy. Demanding. Always hungry. Always messy. Do you think. He looks like Pam?” Spencer asked. “He has her nose. I think. Her eyes. Her hair.”

“That is the first thing Hon said when the doctor put James on her stomach. ‘He looks like Pam,’ Hon said, right before she burst into tears.”

“So the IVF? James is Larsson’s biological son,” Reid decided. “She would be over the moon,” he added with a little smile. Spencer missed Pam Larsson the same way he missed Emily Prentiss. Hotch’s face warped with emotion, but he tucked whatever he was thinking or feeling away behind a sudden burst of anger.

“It’s not a good thing that James looks like Pam. Every damned time Hon looks at her son, all she’s going to think about is how much she misses her wife, and it’s going to haunt her until the day she dies. She will never look at her son and not feel the pain of losing Pam,” Aaron ground the words out. 

Reid took the phone and closed it, dropping it onto the desk. 

“Is that what you feel. Every time you look at Jack?” Spencer asked. 

“No, of course not,” Hotch protested, blinking in surprise. “I love Jack.”

“But Jack looks. Like Haley.” 

“Jack looks like Mr. Brooks and like Haley,” Hotch corrected. 

“Do you look at Jack. And only think of Haley?” Reid whispered. 

“No,” Hotch whispered. “I see my son. I think of Haley too, but when I look at Jack, I see my son. I see what love can bring.”

“So too. Hon loves James. No matter the pain of her loss,” Reid assured Aaron. “ ‘Endure. And Persist. This pain will turn to good. By and by’.”

“Where is that from?” Hotch asked, clearing the lump in his throat.

“Ovid,” Reid replied. Hotch looked extraordinarily sad for a moment before he cleared his throat again and put on a bright smile as he changed the subject. 

“You were on the phone with Seattle for almost an hour! How is Mouse? How’s Aunt Julie?” Hotch asked. 

“They are coming to visit. This weekend. Is that okay?”

“Um, sure, okay with me,” Hotch nodded, though he went through the motions of a quick squint, as if there was something in that scenario that bothered him, but he wasn’t going to tell Reid which part of it bothered him. Was it the fact Mouse wanted to visit? Was it the fact it would be this weekend? Reid worried what was wrong as he continued to speak. 

“Korsakova has business in Boston. She will bring Mouse by. Friday evening. Have dinner with us. Be back in the air. Return to DC Sunday late. Take Mouse home.”

“What about Max?” 

“He will come too. To give me advice on cars. He is buddy-buddy friends with. A Jag dealer in Ballston. Will get me special deal, he said,” Reid smiled. 

“Can we afford a Jaguar?” Hotch teased. 

“We can afford. A test drive. Anyhow,” Reid pouted.

“Why are you even looking at cars? You, sir, are not allowed to drive yet. You will not be test driving anything. Not until you’re ready. Do you hear me?” Hotch chided him. “You are not supposed to be driving yet. You could get in serious trouble.”

Reid frowned, “I neeeeeeed a car.”

“I am perfectly happy to drive you anywhere you need to go,” Hotch said, softening the scolding by dotting kisses on Reid’s neck, in his ear, against his long throat. Reid forcefully pushed his face away, tapping one long finger on the tip of Aaron’s nose.

“That is. Not the point,” Reid growled. 

“Baby, you can drive my car,” Hotch hummed a distant melody, laughing softly at himself, hoping the humor would defuse Reid’s annoyance. It did not mitigate his partner’s tempestuous frown, not in the slightest. 

“No. I want. A car. I need. A car. My own…… car…..” Reid whispered as Hotch’s hands slithered up inside his shirt, tugging the hem up. Aaron was backing Spencer into his desk chair, nibbling his hips, licking his stomach. “Hotch. Stop that,” Reid whimpered softly, fingers curling into his lover’s short, dark hair. “I am so….. not in the mood…. Could not be less. Not in the mood….”

“Shhh….” Hotch soothed, lowering Reid’s sweats to his hips, nuzzling his abdomen, fingers creeping down into his boxers. 

“I’m lumpy. And slow and horrible. And skin and bones, and….” Reid rambled. 

“I love you just the way you are. You’re perfect to me. Perfect for me. Dr. Spencer Reid, you are the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with,” Aaron whispered as he got his hand between Reid’s legs, brushing through sandy body hair. He caressed the very tip of Reid’s cock while teasing his navel with wet licks. Spencer groaned, leaned his head back, thighs rubbing Aaron’s sides. 

“Dad?” Jack said behind them. He wasn’t more than three feet away. Reid yelped in surprise, fingers digging into Hotch’s shoulders. Hotch blanched three shades of pale and spun around, standing up, hands in front of himself. Spencer tugged his boxers and sweats back into place around his waist, and pulled his shirt down, hiding inside his robe and behind Hotch’s backside and legs. 

“Yes, buddy?” Hotch asked, clearing his throat, managing to look incredibly innocent as possible in spite of the circumstances. He was calculating what Jack might have seen, if he had seen anything at all except Hotch on his knees, and Reid in the desk chair. Hotch’s heart was racing fearfully. 

“What were you doing to Papa?” Jack asked, staring wide-eyed at Hotch. 

“Taking his temperature,” Hotch replied. Jack’s little eyes narrowed skeptically.

“Why don’t you use the red-light thermometer on his forehead?” Jack wondered. 

“The infrared digital thermometer,” Reid corrected too softly for Jack to have even heard him. 

“Buddy, go grab your coat. We’re going out for dinner,” Hotch suggested brightly. Usually, such a command would have sent Jack running in excited anticipation. This time, he didn’t move an inch. Reid peered nervously around Hotch’s shoulder. Jack was staring right at him. 

“Papa, do you have a fever?” Jack asked, eyes studying Reid critically. Spencer fought with the kind of horrible embarrassment he hadn’t felt in many years. It would have been easier if Hotch wasn’t giving him a sideways grin that said how adorable he found Reid when he was blushing and at a loss for words. 

“I’m a little. Under the weather,” Reid answered neutrally. 

“Maybe you should get back in bed?” Hotch suggested, facing Reid and rubbing both his shoulders. “Jack and I will run get take out. Bring it back. We can have dinner in bed. It’s like breakfast in bed, only it’s dinner. How does that sound?” 

Reid gave Hotch a pouty frown. He spent most of every day in bed. The last place he wanted to be was at home and in bed. 

“Or not,” Hotch amended, testing nervously. 

“Can we get pizza?” Jack asked, heading for the open study door. 

“No. We had pizza last night,” Hotch replied. As he followed Jack, he pulled Reid along. Spencer stumbled, clutched on Aaron’s arm, and leveled himself with his cane. 

“What about chicken nuggets and French fries?” Jack persisted. 

“What about something that isn’t pre-processed, over-breaded, or cooked in high-cholesterol trans fat oil?” Hotch retorted. 

“Like what?” Jack frowned. 

“Something that involves vegetables.”

“Potatoes are vegetables. There are vegetables on pizza too. We could even have all vegetable pizza.”

“Jack. Be careful. You sound. Like a lawyer,” Reid whispered, petting Jack’s head and getting out of arm’s reach from Hotch.


	2. Morning Meditations

Hotch followed Reid with bedroom eyes for the rest of the evening. Reid was trying not to feel self-conscious, because Jack was shooting both of them some very strange and curious looks. Reid knew Jack wasn’t going to let go of this so easily. He was too much like his father in that respect. They both had very good instincts when it came to investigating peculiar events. More than that, and even more so like Hotch, Jack was not going to consider the matter settled without a decent explanation. Hotch’s lame remark about taking Reid’s temperature was not going to be the end of the matter. Both the Hotchners had a good nose for when someone was bullshitting them, especially one of their own. Reid anticipated that this was going to make Jack's teenage years quite lively and adversarial. 

They returned home after dinner, watched tv, and then Hotch tucked Jack into bed for the night. After the brushing of the teeth, the obligatory glass of water, and the pre-requisite story time, Jack finally went to sleep. Aaron came strolling into the master bedroom, smiling that particular way he had which telegraphed his intentions. He clearly hoped to pick up where they had left off in the study earlier in the evening, but Spencer wasn’t having any part of it. Reid curled up on his side of the bed, hid under the covers, and feigned sleep until Hotch got the hint. Aaron finally called it a night. He stopped rubbing Reid's hip and stopped talking in that low, deep voice. He turned off the lamp with a disappointed sigh. He curled one big arm protectively around Reid, and gently dotted a kiss on his shoulder. 

Reid’s lack of libido wasn’t solely because Jack had interrupted them. He hadn’t been feeling desirable for some time. After all Spencer had been through, sex was the last thing on his mind. He could barely walk. He was stiff and sore and bruised from bumping into walls and doors. He didn’t like being touched, but he was enduring being man-handled daily by his brutal physical therapist. He was feeling down on himself over his speech disability. He was feeling isolated because he was home all alone while Hotch was at work and Jack was at school. He didn’t have interesting cases to distract himself from his personal misery. He didn’t have a car, so he couldn’t go for a drive and get away from his thoughts. 

Spencer had crept much further away the other night than Aaron might have otherwise suspected. Reid was at the end of his rope, feeling cooped up in the house. He had snatched Aaron’s car keys, and he had taken Aaron’s SUV out for a spin. At first he had wanted to sniff the night air and feel the rush of wind on his skin, go for a tour around the ‘burbs and come home again. But that quick jaunt had turned into a three-hour drive into DC, around the Beltway, back into Virginia, up and down 95. 

The drive had not been uneventful. It had been great fun at first, driving around with the windows open and the night air rushing around him, the wind whipping around the car. The icy cold biting into him had made him feel alive again. Reid should have known that any small piece of pleasure was going to come with a price, but he could never have anticipated how fate was going to torment him this time around. 

Part of him wanted to blame Spaulding for what had happened, but couldn’t bring himself to be mad at someone who was duty-bound to do what she had been doing. Reid had been watching Spaulding, who was following him at a close distance. She was making unhappy faces at him because she wanted him to wrap this up. Her face was saying it was time to return home. Reid had had his eyes on Spaulding and her displeased frown, not unlike his mother’s frown, and he had been thinking that in many ways, Spaulding was becoming a mother substitute for him, the same way Prentiss had been when she was there, the same way many strong women were more mother figures to him than love interests, though with Prentiss, sex had been part of the equation, but not the defining factor. Like Bernie. Like Larsson. Like Dr. Blake as well. Korsakova too, undeniably. What was it about certain women that Reid was drawn to them because they served a motherly role for him, or perhaps a sisterly role in some cases? While pondering these thoughts, Reid had gone through an intersection on red, leaving Spaulding stranded on the near side.

Reid had been blinded by the quick-bright flash of the red light camera, and at first he had felt a pin-prick of surprise. It took all of about two milliseconds for that dot of shock to become a full-blown jagged hole of horror. Reid had almost hit the brakes. The full implications of what he had done smacked him in the chest and took his breath away. 

Not only had Spencer run a red light, while speeding 65 in a 35, but he was driving Hotch’s car without permission, and without a valid license. That red light camera photograph was going to mean a hefty ticket, because he had failed to stop on red, because he had been speeding, and because he had a suspended license due to his physical impairment. But Reid wasn’t going to get the ticket or the penalties. No. Much worse. The ticket and any other driving demerits were going to be levied against the owner of the vehicle used in the infractions—Aaron Hotchner. 

Oh, great.

Reid couldn’t very well sit where he was when this realization had hit him in the chest – in the middle of the intersection, a couple milliseconds after the camera had flashed him. It was too late to panic now. He had already been caught in the commission of a crime, a moving violation. He knew logically that the camera had no idea he was driving on a suspended license, but it sure as hell knew he was speeding and had failed to stop. He had been breaking the law, and he should be punished. It was fitting that Fate had decided to punish him this way. Aaron would know what Reid had been up to, and he was going to be furious. Reid was not going to be able to talk his way out of this one. 

After the red light camera had flashed him, all the joy Reid had been feeling dissipated. He had been like this lately – up one minute, but crashing back down into depression the next minute at the very least bit of discouragement. Spencer had rolled on through the intersection, and pulled over on the shoulder. He scrunched down in the seat, rolled up the windows, closed the roof, and waited for Spaulding to pull alongside him. When the light changed, Spaulding moved up. She didn’t even roll down her window to scold Reid. The Captain gave her charge a stern look through the glass, and pulled ahead of him, knowing he was going to be following her right back home. You bet your ass he did exactly what she wanted too! 

Spencer knew that Spaulding was mad at him, and he knew why. She would have preferred that he simply have asked her to drive him around for a while if he was feeling cooped up to the point of distraction. But going for a ride and going for a drive were too entirely different things, and one could not be substituted for the other! He didn’t want to be treated like he couldn’t take care of himself. It was bad enough Hotch wouldn't let him get three feet away without going into panic mode. 

At any rate, the night in question, Reid had crept back home, and crept back to bed, tail between his legs with fear about how pissed Aaron was going to be when he checked the mail and received that notice from the DC traffic division. In short, because of his physical problems, his growing unrest, his fear over the coming explosion from Hotch, and having nothing to do except ponder his boredom and his misery, the last thing Reid wanted or needed was Aaron being amorous. 

Reid must have been telegraphing that foul mood pretty firmly the next morning too. He had dreamed about red light cameras all night, tossing around in the bed, fretting and fussing in his mind. Hotch didn’t say much as he got ready. Reid stayed in bed, hiding under the covers, toes peeking out of one end of the blanket, narrowed eyes barely visible in the dark hollow over his head. Aaron walked back and forth a few times while picking out his clothes, but it was gray tie day, so why he was debating at all, Reid had no idea. Spencer found it vaguely annoying when his beloved would bring out four or five ties to ponder over, but never failed to select the same color tie he would always wear on certain days. He never deviated from the set sequence: red tie, navy tie, gray tie, black tie, brown tie. 

Spencer was lying there in bed, thinking about the red light camera, and the ticket that was sure to be arriving in the mail any day now, and being angry with Hotch because this was all his fault, somehow, because he was holding Spencer prisoner in his own house, and wouldn’t let him get a car, and he really needed a car, even if he wasn’t technically allowed to drive yet. Everything bad going wrong was Hotch's fault, at least in Reid's head this morning. 

Reid contemplated and landed upon the perfect revenge for being rudely mistreated this way. He would take every last tie Hotch owned and destroy them, burn them, shoot them out of a cannon if he had to. Reid could easily picture what a beautiful mess that would make – all of Hotch’s ties thrown into a great big heap. Reid would then force Hotch to wear bright colored ties in shades of orange and yellow and green, with cartoon characters and weird designs on them. Reid would go and buy a hundred gaudy ties that even a clown would shudder at the sight of, and he would hang them all on Aaron’s side of the closet, on those annoying tiny hangers where Hotch’s neat red, navy, black, gray, and brown ties now resided. 

Reid sighed to himself. He couldn’t believe he was harboring such vengeful thoughts so early in the morning. Vengeful and ridiculous thoughts. His unusual irritation only further cemented his determination that it was time for him to get out of the house for a while today, if only a short while, and surely not only for a trip to see his barbaric, cruel, evil physical therapist. 

Unaware of the mischief and devilry lurking in Spencer’s brain, Hotch gave Reid a gentle kiss on the cheek and whispered ‘love you - behave’ before he slipped out of the house with Jack in tow, off to school and off to work. That sweet and tender kiss, and those softly-rumbled words deflated Reid’s irritation, left him feeling ungrateful and wretched and even more miserable. He hated himself. He was unworthy of someone so kind and protective as Aaron Hotchner. 

Maybe he should buy Aaron some more ties as a way to apologize for being a jerk.


	3. Go Dutch

Reid spent his morning doing the usual things – moping in bed, watching shadows cross the wall, feeling sorry for himself, listening for his surveillance detail to change shifts at ten, deciding who it was by listening to their footsteps as they prowled the perimeter of the house and the yard, and finally walked back towards the barn. 

Spencer eventually got up, took a shower, put on clean pajamas, and puttered around in the kitchen making breakfast. He took a few bites, and threw the rest away. He needed to gain weight. His doctor was constantly harping about needing another five pounds by the end of the week, another ten pounds by the end of the month. Food was completely unsatisfying. The only one in this house gaining any weight was Aaron! 

Goody was out in the distant backyard, patrolling in the forest. Reid picked out his sleek shape creeping around the trees, dipping into the shadows in pursuit of whatever hapless squirrel or forest denizen had crossed his path. Spencer thought about going out to take a walk, but he knew if he stepped one foot out the door, that Ensign James would be right by his side every step of the way, playing nurse and guard in one. 

Opting to stay inside, Reid wrote a letter to his mom, and put it in the envelope, but didn’t mail it. Diana Reid had sent back his last several letters unopened. She remained under the delusion that he was not her son, that her son was on a secret mission, and would not be contacting her until it was safe. Secret mission, Reid sighed to himself. Well, having Diana believe he was gone on a secret mission was far better than having her believe he was dead. When Reid was well enough, he was determined to go to Vegas and talk to his mother’s doctors, see if he might be allowed to talk to his mom in person. For now there was nothing he could do but write the letters and hold them for his mother, at least until she was ready to believe it was safe to accept his letters again. 

An anxious knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Reid gasped and leapt up off the settee (as much as he could be said to leap these days). He glanced at the clock on the way out of the room -- shortly after 11 a.m. He hurried down the stairs as he pulled on a heavy sweater against the lingering chill. Spencer balanced precariously on his cane as he slid off the bottom step. There was a second where he was sure he was about to slam face-first into the heavy door, and he closed his eyes, anticipating the bang. Reid was covered in bruises from collisions with door frames, and walls, and from falling flat on his face more than once. He shouldn’t have been hurrying around, let alone rushing while wearing his fuzzy slippers. Thankfully he did not smack his face into the door, but he did bang his right arm pretty hard. Reid righted himself, fumbled with the safety chain, and clicked the dead bolt back. He was so terribly excited about the prospect of what lay on the other side of the portal! 

There was a strange woman on his front porch, wearing a dark suit and skirt. Reid was immediately intrigued. She was holding a black briefcase, and had an official look about her. Her reddish-blonde hair was pulled back neatly, except for one curl which dipped into her face, accentuated her jaw line. She had an open face, a heart-shaped mouth, and emerald green eyes. He judged her to be in her mid-thirties, maybe a year or two older than he was. Although she was very professionally-dressed, she had a youthful and friendly smile which didn’t fit with the rest of her mature appearance. Was she military or government? FBI agent? CIA operative? One thing for sure – she wasn’t selling Girl Scout cookies. 

When she saw the door open, the woman’s face lit up brightly, and she reached behind herself. Reid had about enough time to catch his breath and open his mouth to say hello before a silent form barreled swiftly past him. His guard was out the screen door in a flash, and had his gun pointed directly in the woman’s face. One strong hand was wrapped around the left half of her collarbone. She pulled up and back in surprise, and dropped her badge behind her on the porch. Reid winced with embarrassment. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid? I’m Special Agent Candace Vandervries,” she murmured unsurely, glancing between the barrel of the gun and the chagrined doctor. Reid hobbled out onto the porch and put a hand on the shoulder of the man who had pushed past him. 

“James,” he scolded gently. 

“She could have been reaching for a gun,” the young ensign said, lowering his weapon and stowing it at his side. He reluctantly released the woman's throat. James had entered the house through the kitchen and crept up behind Reid without a sound. Spencer was amazed at the stealth abilities of his guards. Amazed and even a little scared. 

Reid bent down and retrieved the woman’s badge, checking it out as he gave it back to her. She was busy gaping at the doctor in undisguised curiosity. 

“NSA. Fort Meade?” she said. “It’s about Battersea. Can we talk inside?” 

Reid carefully straightened up, a jolt of excitement pulsing through his veins. 

“Yes. Please come in. Behave,” Reid whispered as an aside to James, fighting a thin smile. 

“You have speech therapy in one hour, and then you have physical therapy after that,” the guard reminded Dr. Reid firmly, holding the door open. Reid hobbled back through the portal, motioning for the agent to follow him. 

“What was. Your name again?” Reid asked, letting Ensign James through the door before he closed it and locked it securely. 

“You can call me ‘Dutch’. It’s faster,” she replied, shaking Reid’s hand with a powerful, sincere grip. A woman with a man’s nickname desperately wanted you to look past anything feminine about her person and take her seriously in her job. See me first as an agent, second as a woman. So Reid paid Dutch that courtesy and did so. 

“How can I. Help you? Dutch?” 

“Can we talk privately?” the agent wondered, giving James a meaningful glance. Reid’s smile twitched. 

“Say what you came to say, lady. I’m not going anywhere,” the ensign muttered. 

“You may. Speak freely. Agent Vandervries,” Reid assured her. He pivoted carefully and headed towards the dining room, pulling out a chair for the guest while he remained standing, waiting for her to follow, all the while leaning on his cane. James usually would have disappeared back outside again, but he stood close at hand as if he expected trouble. 

“I hope you don’t mind me barging in this way….” Dutch murmured unsurely.

“You mentioned. Battersea?” Reid questioned. Dutch put her case on the table and clicked the locks, retrieving a folder, which she handed to Reid. She wasn’t happy James was staying, but she got down to business anyway. 

“This file landed on my desk the Monday after the Thanksgiving Break, and I’ve added to it since then. The Monday before Thanksgiving, you sent me an email concerning Battersea Transport. Specifically you were asking for all available data on the truck fleet’s shipping and receiving manifests, and their weigh scale readings, particularly through Colorado and New Mexico. I sent you all the information that you requested, but I never heard back. I wanted to discuss the case with you,” the agent explained. 

Reid was growing more intrigued by the moment. “Why did I. Request that?” he wondered. 

Dutch’s face fell. 

“You don’t remember?”

“No. Sorry,” Reid hummed sadly. 

“I was afraid this would happen. When I didn’t receive an email reply or a phone call, I sought you out, and discovered you had been injured and were in grave condition in the hospital. I waited as long as I thought acceptable before contacting you. I know you’ve been through quite a bit recently. I wouldn’t bother you, but this is important. Your request had a sense of urgency about it, so I didn’t think it would be prudent to delay any longer.” 

“Prudent?” Reid rumbled, brows dipping.

“You don’t recall either the case or the request, do you?”

“No. Can you refresh. My memory?” he asked. 

“Battersea Transport is an American division of Ventus Energy. Battersea’s US headquarters is in Rockville, Maryland. Ventus is a global company which specializes in bringing alternate power sources to remote areas around the world. They do it all – wind, solar, water, geo-thermal.”

“Go on,” Reid urged. His amber eyes were glimmering like the small lights on a computer which indicates the hard drive is processing about as fast as it can manage without blowing a fuse. 

“At Fort Meade, we routinely monitor incoming overseas calls which contain certain keywords. Several of these keywords have been used in telephone conversations between Battersea Transport’s executive officer stateside, and the Ventus’ world headquarters in London. Working with Interpol, we found out that those exact messages are then relayed to Ventus’ other offices in Europe, Africa, and Asia. Intercepting the phone calls which used those keywords started the ball rolling. We began to record and catalogue Battersea’s international calls on a regular basis, and then ship the transcripts to the FBI’s Cryptology Department for assessment. You were assigned the Battersea case while you were in Cryptology, and something in them sparked your request for the shipping manifests and the weight station readings. This ringing any bells?” Dutch asked anxiously. 

“No,” Reid admitted. “It’s been. A while.”

Dutch’s eyes traced over him to take in his physical condition, and she seemed sympathetic. 

“Yeah, I heard you were touch and go.”

“More go. Than touch at times.” 

“I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time,” she sighed. 

“Not at all. While I do not remember. The specifics of the case. It wouldn’t take me. Five minutes to read your files. Give you my thoughts. Do you have. The time?” Reid asked. 

“Help yourself,” Dutch gushed, as she fumbled her case open once more and snatched up a second folder, giving this one to Reid as well. Spencer spread out the contents of the first file on the table, and his brows went up when he saw it contained pages of notes that he had written while in Cryptology. Reid shuddered as he touched the manila folder. Memories battled in his head – Bernie getting shot; the chaos afterwards; Larsson screaming at and shaking Ramirez; Rockford’s asshole bravado coupled with utter uselessness in the face of real danger; Hilda’s frantic screaming in the background. Davies had been scared too, but she had been collected, following orders, helping Reid tend to Bernie. Reid shook his head to push the painful thoughts away. 

Spencer was beginning to recall the incidents leading up to the car bomb that had almost claimed his life and the life of one of his surveillance team. He couldn’t have been more sorry about what had happened to the Cryptology team, and to Captain Matts Magnusson. Since that incident, General Scott’s team had redoubled their efforts to keep him from harm, and had left him feeling smothered. Ensign James hovered now like he was ready to spring at Dutch at any second. James paced back and forth, watching the visitor and watching the clock. Reid turned pages over, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar information. It was weird to recognize his own handwriting but not remember writing these words. Dutch watched Reid turning the pages faster as he progressed. She leaned back slightly, a skeptical look on her face. 

“Relax, Dutch. I can read. 20,000. Words per minute,” Reid murmured, moving to the second folder, which contained pages of numbers, particular GPS readings and the weigh scale readings recorded at those locations. “My speech was affected. By the brain injuries. The surgery to relieve pressure inside my head. And the coma. But I am better. I’ve been practicing. I’m speaking more quickly than before. How to explain? There is this. Infinitesimal pause. Between when I think the words. And when my mouth. Will give up the words,” Reid explained, touching his forehead, touching his lips, and brushing his fingertips forward into thin air. 

“My aunt was like that after she had a stroke,” Dutch whispered back. Reid nodded in agreement as he stared down at the pages and continued to turn them over in quick succession. 

“It’s like my mouth. Doesn’t trust my brain. And wants to review the words first. My therapist. He thinks the delay is psychosomatic. I think. He’s an idiot. I would like to open his skull. Play with his brain. See how many. Psychosomatic issues he develops. And I would like. To put my physical therapist. On a rack for a few hours. But that’s beside the point. Forgive my rambling.”

“Have you caught your perp?” she asked quietly. 

“Not yet,” Reid replied, not lifting his busy eyes from the pages. 

“Doesn’t it freak you out that he’s on the loose somewhere?” she wondered. “That he could show up at your door and put a bullet in you?” 

“No,” Reid replied with a tiny shrug. “Inevitable, death is. Embrace your mortality, you must.” 

“I suppose so, Yoda,” Dutch murmured dryly. Reid snickered before concentrating again on the files. 

“This brought you. All the way from Fort Meade?” he asked. 

“Sorry if I’m intruding while you’re recuperating. My bosses want this case settled so I can move onto other things. As the rookie agent in our department, and the only female agent, I always get the weird ass cases. I would have simply considered it a closed case but for the urgency in your request. You must have had a good reason, something important must have caught your eye. But I cannot fathom what.”

“You are not. Intruding,” Reid assured her. “I'm grateful. My brain is hungry. I’m so bored.” 

“With a case like yours hanging open?” Dutch wondered. “Mad bomber takes out a score of FBI agents, and disappears into thin air? They’ve done everything but scramble fighter jets to find this guy. How can you be bored?”

“My boss won’t. Let me work the case,” Reid pouted. “I’m locked out. Too close to the issue.” 

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Me too.”

“You know,” Dutch said, emerald eyes sparkling, “if this was the movies, you’d be able to convince your boss that you are the only one who could find this guy, that he has to let you work the case!” 

“Yeah. But this is not. The movies,” Reid grumbled. 

“He won’t even let you help?” she wondered. 

“He was less than. Receptive to the idea,” Reid whispered. No need to tell her how much he had begged and pleaded with Hotch over the issue. 

“Okay then! It’s time for you to go all Jason Bourne on him! Go on the run! Go find the guy on your own! Follow the clues no one else can see. Bring him down in a blaze of gunfire and….” Dutch rolled ahead with the thought in a cheerful, eager voice. “You know, Dr. Reid, I’m perfectly willing to help you do that, if you decide to go that route. Don’t let the suit fool you. I’m a full-fledged field agent, all the chops to show for it. I requested a field position, so why they stuck me in a desk job is beyond me. Probably more to do with my gender than my skill set. I would kill or die to get out in the field, Dr. Reid, get my feet wet, prove myself, you know?” 

"I can relate. To what you're feeling. Vandervries," Reid sprouted a slow, evil smile as he spoke. He was clearly contemplating all the possibilities of that wild scenario, and it was making him giddy with excitement. James reached out and gently popped the doctor on the shoulder and shook a finger an inch from his nose. 

“Don’t you even think about it,” the ensign warned him. Reid deflated again, shoulders drooping. 

“Back to Battersea?” Reid decided grimly. “I might have found. Something.” 

“Yes?” Dutch sat up straighter. 

“What stands out to me in these files. Is the strange anomalies. In the truck weights. They register one weight at the first scale. A different weight at the second scale. Back to first weight at the third scale. Exactly on the nose. The pattern never varies. The trucks lose weight and gain weight. With no connection to deliveries. Listed on their route.” 

“What do you mean?” Dutch asked. 

“I can show you on the map. Upstairs,” Reid pointed. 

Dutch leapt from her chair, racing up the steps. Reid slowly followed her. She was at the top of the stairs and pacing around the landing as he climbed at an agonizingly slow rate of speed. 

“Which room?” Dutch asked, bouncing on her toes. 

“That one,” Reid pointed. James pounded up the steps behind Reid. He entered the study where the maps were covering all the walls. Dutch paused in the middle of the room and waited for Reid. 

“So the trucks will start out as one weight but arrive at the next stop at a different weight?” Dutch asked as Reid leaned on the doorway and rasped heavily for a second or two. The agent tentatively came closer to him. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Reid assured her with a quick lie. 

“Why did the differences in truck weights strike you as weird or unusual?” 

“Same contents. Different weights.” 

“I don’t understand,” Dutch murmured, her brow furrowing. Frustrated by his inability to properly communicate what he was thinking, Reid ambled over to the cover map of the United States. He ran one set of thin fingers over the states in question.

“A demonstration?” he proposed. 

“By all means,” Dutch nodded.

Reid reached out and pulled Ensign James over to the map. His guard smiled sideways. 

“Trucks are weighed along their routes. To determine if their weight is legal?” Reid began. 

“Yes,” Dutch agreed.

“Their manifests should list all the contents being shipped. The difference is in. The weight at different places. Odd changes. Which do not correlate. With any particular delivery point listed on the route,” Reid said, balancing his hands like scales, moving one hand higher than the other. 

“So the trucks deliver their goods, and their weight changes? That is not out of the ordinary, Dr. Reid,” Dutch frowned. Reid shook his head and scratched his jaw. “I get it. They’re making deliveries but not recording them? You suspect illegal drugs? Illegal goods?”

“Not sure what to suspect. It’s odd. That’s all,” Reid said.

“Why odd?” Dutch persisted.

Reid shook his head, growling softly. He took James by one shoulder and moved him back and forth a step or two. 

“James is 185 in Denver. He is 178 in. Colorado Springs. He is 185 again. In Santa Fe,” Reid said. “But he should. Always be 185.” 

“I weigh 190,” the ensign interjected. “I’m very solid.” Reid chuckled in reply, mentally calculating that he weighed only two-thirds of what his guard weighed, but was almost four inches taller. 

“So they’re making deliveries but not recording the deliveries?” Dutch asked. Reid nodded vehemently. “What does that have to do with the telephone transcripts?”

“It vexes me.”

“Why does it vex you?” Dutch smiled.

“The transcripts. Why is the senior executive. Concerned about deliveries in Colorado. When his priority US projects. Are in Kansas and New Mexico? Besides that, he never fails to ask. How the Broncos are doing?”

“So he’s a football fan?” Dutch quipped dryly. 

“Why would the Asian, African, and European offices care about the Broncos? This is about more than. Ex-pat football fans. It’s odd. Is he talking in code? But even talking in code. Words will slip. Which is how he set off your surveillance team?”

“My bosses are wondering if the surveillance team might have jumped the gun, asking for a warrant to wiretap Battersea. I mean, for the most part, they talk about the facility in Santa Fe. It stands to reason that an energy company would be concerned with storage facilities big enough to corral and maintain and redistribute energy, right? A central station where they can store backup energy in case of an emergency blackout in the area. Rolling blackouts are not uncommon on the West Coast, and having a storage facility that close means you could route the energy to the coast in minutes.” 

“Contain. Maintain. Redistribute. Redirect,” Reid speculated. “Whatever the reason. Hmm….. Can I please have pins?” Reid asked James, pointing to the double desk across the room. 

“You want to write something?” James asked, going over to the pencil cup. 

“Pin pins. Pointy. Sharp,” Reid clarified. 

“Thumb tacks,” James sighed, rustling through the desk drawer. 

“Pins.”

“Thumb tacks.”

“Pins.”

“Thumb tacks,” the ensign insisted, bringing a container over to Reid, whose hands fluttered impatiently. “Doc, don’t be so impatient. There are probably 70 pins in the map already. Move them,” he muttered. 

“No,” Reid whined. James opened the container and held it out. Reid stuck several blue and green pins into Colorado and New Mexico. He invited Dutch closer to the map. 

“What do you see?” Reid asked anxiously. Dutch stared at the thin paper, and when she focused, she could see there was a clear route of green pins surrounded by an ocean of blue ones. 

“Battersea trucks are losing weight coming through the mountains in Colorado, but regaining that weight before reaching Santa Fe. Particularly through this passage.”

“Yes!”

“But it’s a negligible amount of weight, Dr. Reid.”

“Not if you add it up! Over time!” Reid insisted.

“Is that why you asked for all those years’ worth of information?” Dutch said, staring hard at the map as if to glean what Reid was driving at. “If Battersea is secretly taking cargo into the mountains but not bringing it back out of the mountains, concealing the weight differentials by taking on some form of ballast before coming into Santa Fe, then what kind of cargo are they leaving in the mountains? Where are they leaving it? Why are they leaving it? For what purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Reid sighed impatiently. “But I do know it’s happening. I can feel it.”

“How are they restoring the weight before reaching Santa Fe?” Dutch asked. 

“Early sailing ships used. Heavy rocks as ballast. Trucks could easily be. Taking on weight in hidden compartments.” 

“Dr. Reid, I’ve been over the manifests. So have you. They aren’t carrying anything that felt out of place. Only raw materials and machinery and electronics they would be expected to carry in order to construct wind turbines or solar panels, and the necessary batteries to store the energy being created.”

“Energy is never created. Energy is transformed. From one form. To the next form,” Reid corrected. “Radiant, thermal, electrical, chemical, and so on. I won’t bore you.”

“Could gasoline consumption account for the weight differentials? The trucks are burning fuel going through the mountains. That could account for the variations recorded at the weigh stations,” Dutch wondered. Reid shook his head no.

“I would think that too. Except that the trucks invariably. Tank up. Before heading into those mountains,” Reid insisted. “I checked the. Credit card logs back in November. Requested them from a different source.”

“You might be making mountains out of molehills,” Dutch chided. 

“It creeps. Up my spine,” Reid whispered. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s going to take more than your ‘spidey sense’ to convince my bosses that this situation requires further investigation. Why should we be worried about changing truck weights going through certain passages in these mountains?”

Reid picked yellow pins out of the small, plastic container, and started putting them into the map. The more pins he pushed in, the bigger Dutch’s green eyes got. Her mouth was hanging open as she faced Reid. 

“What are those?” James asked. 

“Nothing,” Dutch insisted, tugging the yellow pins out of the map as quickly as possible.

“Classified. Military bases,” Reid whispered, putting a finger to his own mouth to indicate James should consider that a secret. 

“That’s disconcerting,” the ensign rumbled dryly. 

“Shhhhh….” Spencer whispered. James touched the map and shook his head. 

“Dr. Reid, how the hell do you know what’s out there?” Dutch demanded, hands on hips. 

“I have my sources,” Reid smiled cryptically. 

“Sir, I need to know how you know what’s in those mountains,” Dutch frowned. “Those facilities are strictly classified,” Dutch insisted.

“No matter how classified they are. They require supplies to provide creature comforts. Food. Drink. Satellite tv,” Reid explained. “Information readily available. To those who know where to look. Someone there has a serious addiction. To Carolina barbeque. Someone important. Because he can request it weekly.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“These bases also require office supplies. Paper. Pens. Folders. They require administrative services. They require. IT services and specialists.” 

“Holy shit,” Dutch whispered, shaking her head. 

“I don’t know. What the cargo is. I don’t know. What’s being taken into those mountains. I don’t know. What’s happening once it is there. But it happening. right next to these facilities. I don’t think. You want someone storing any kind of cargo. Or worse, stockpiling battery cells filled with energy. Right under NORAD. Or any other classified military installations. Do you?” Reid said while leaning heavily on his cane and staring at the map. 

“If you’re right, this is really fucking serious!” Dutch exclaimed. 

“I know,” Reid said. 

“You can’t breathe a word about this to anyone,” Dutch insisted. 

Reid made a zipping motion across his lips.

“You either,” Dutch added, pointing a finger at Ensign James, who raised one brow and shrugged.

“It goes without saying,” James replied. 

“I need to report in,” Dutch babbled briefly. “My bosses are gonna have a conniption fit.” 

“Yep,” Reid breathed. 

“I may need….. I may need to bother you again,” she fretted.

“No bother,” Reid grinned. 

Dutch flew down the steps and grabbed the files off the table. She stuffed them haphazardly into her briefcase, and paused at the bottom of the steps as Reid leaned on the banister. She wasn’t sure which way to go for a second. She was radiating anxious nervous energy. 

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Reid,” Dutch exclaimed, fleeing out the front door and rushing back to her car. She was on the phone before she even pulled out of the driveway. James plodded down the steps and closed the screen door, and then closed the front door. He clicked the deadbolt into place. 

“Hurry, Doc. You’re going to be late for therapy,” he called back up the stairs.


	4. Meatloaf

Reid reluctantly returned to the house later in the afternoon, almost towards evening. Ensign James pulled his blue jeep into the driveway, and parked behind Hotch’s pristine SUV. They sat for a few moments. The car was silent except for Reid’s heavy breathing. 

“Are you okay?” the ensign asked. “Do you need help back inside?”

Reid heaved up a depressed sigh. All his amusement from before had drained away. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep. After his appointment, he hadn’t felt like shopping for ties for Hotch, and he felt guilty about that, in light of the horrible things he had been thinking this morning. 

“That physical therapist worked you over pretty hard, didn’t he? I heard you scream a couple times,” James commented. 

Reid whispered, “I am going to kill him. Someday. Slowly.” 

“You want me to realign his knees for you?” James suggested. Reid wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. 

“I’m worthless. Like this,” Reid sighed.

“You are not worthless. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Doc,” James offered. “You better head inside before Tall, Grim, and Hairy comes running out. He’s peeking out the kitchen window. Look at him. Why is he making that face?”

Reid glanced up. Aaron really was frowning. Spencer opened the car door and put one leg out. He shifted in his seat, got a grip on the door, and touched the ground with one foot and his cane.

The kitchen door flew open, and Jack emerged at top speed. Honeywell followed after him. Jack ran up to the car and tugged Reid into a standing position, poking, pushing, prodding, shoving him towards the back stoop. Reid winced in pain every time Jack touched him. 

“Papa!! Where have you been? Dad was worried. I was worried. Hurry! He’s making vegetables for dinner again! Help!” Jack said, hurrying Reid inside. “I wanted corn dogs. You promised me corn dogs. PLEEEEEEEASE!?” 

Honeywell came over to the side of the car to talk to James. 

“The general wants to talk to you about Dr. Reid’s visitor this afternoon. Give him a call when you get the chance, will you?”

“I’ll call him right now,” James nodded. Honeywell climbed into the passenger side of the car in order to chat with the ensign while he was on the phone with the general. Meanwhile, Jack pushed Reid up the back stoop and into the kitchen. Hotch greeted them as the portal swung open. He had a cell phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear.

“If you’ll….if you’ll let me…. General? Sir, respectfully, shut up for a second. Take a deep breath. Dr. Reid is home. Hold on one moment, and I’ll put him on the phone with you.”

Hotch handed Reid the phone and a dark frown. At the same time, Aaron pointed Jack back towards the dining room table where his homework was laid out for him. Jack pouted, but he returned to his chair and picked up his pencil. Reid put the cell phone to his ear and watched Hotch dicing up vegetables on the cutting board. 

“Hello?” Spencer rasped. A loud voice began to bawl him out but good. 

“Doctor Spencer Reid?! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, you pinheaded, pencil-pushing dipshit, insinuating that I can’t keep a secure perimeter around my base, but you’ve got some kind of hellacious fucking nerve, sending that CIA operative over here with a bug in her britches over who is dragging what through my mountains! Don’t you think I’m gonna sit still while you and Miss Candypants come marching through here, stirring up all kinds of shit, telling everyone I can’t keep a secure facility without help from the FBI and the CIA poking their goddamn noses into my goddamn business…..”

Reid pulled the phone back from his ear, and blinked in surprise as the angry diatribe continued. He locked eyes with Hotch, and quietly disconnected the call. 

“How was your day?” Hotch asked. He was playing it cool, but it was obvious he wanted Reid to tell him what was going on. How long had Hotch had to endure that screaming? Aaron was chopping carrots and celery, and Reid was trying to decide from the items on the cutting board what Hotch was making for dinner. Salad? Soup? Relish tray? No wonder Jack was worried. 

“It was a. Quiet day,” Reid replied. The phone rang again. He put it to his ear. “Hello?”

The same loud voice began screaming at him again. Spencer frowned, and disconnected this call too. 

“Up till now,” he amended softly, clearing his throat, turning off his phone and hiding it in a pocket. 

“Have you been pissing in the wrong dog’s water dish again?” Hotch asked. 

“Nope,” Spencer denied, picking up a piece of celery and nibbling on it. 

“Then why is Foghorn Leghorn calling long distance to scream at you?” Hotch wondered. 

“How do you know. The call is long distance?” 

“I saw the area code, genius. He's calling from 719, Colorado, I believe,” Hotch grinned. “How do you manage to get in trouble without even hardly leaving the house?” 

“I have no idea. What you’re talking about,” Reid whispered.

“Dad? I need help!” Jack called out.

“With what?” Hotch hollered back. 

“What are we having for dinner?” Reid added.

“Dad!?” Jack repeated. 

“Meatloaf,” Hotch replied.

“DAAAAAAD!” Jack yelled. “I need hellllllllp!” 

“Jack, keep your shirt on!” Hotch hollered back. 

“This doesn’t look. Like meatloaf. It looks like. Carrot loaf,” Reid said as he pointed to the cutting board. 

“Jack needs to eat more vegetables. There’s ground turkey in the fridge bin. Would you grab it? We’ll mix the diced vegetables into the loaf, and he’ll never taste the difference.”

“DAAAAAAAAAD!!” Jack yelled.

“Okaaaaaay!” Hotch yelled back. “Do you want to do dinner, or do you want to help with homework?” Hotch asked Reid softly. 

“Dinner,” Reid said. 

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Aaron mused as he put down the knife and dried his hands on a kitchen towel, then headed into the dining room to sit at the table with Jack. The young boy grinned broadly at Reid and tugged Hotch down into a chair at the dining table. Hotch got a good look at the page. 

“Long division?” Hotch groaned. “Reid, are you sure you wouldn’t rather….”

Spencer chucked the carrots and celery into the blender and turned it on high. 

“WHAT?!” he shouted over the noise. “I CAN’T! HEAR YOU!”

Jack grinned at Reid, and poked Hotch in the arm. 

“I can do it if you walk me through it,” the boy pleaded. 

The blender continued to whirr, covering the sound of the phone camera as Reid snapped a picture of Hotch and Jack together. Jack looked up at the blink of the flash, but Reid had already disappeared back into the kitchen.


	5. If Music Be the Food of Love

After Jack was in bed for the evening, and after Hotch had checked, rechecked, and double-checked to make sure his son was sound asleep, Aaron practically ran down the steps, sprinted into the tv room, and flung himself on the big leather couch on top of Reid. He was all hands and teeth and nails and hairy limbs, scooting under Reid’s blanket like some horny teenager. 

Spencer had been nearly asleep, but having someone leap on top of him and fumble with his pajama buttons, scrambling and struggling to undress him, the surprise of it woke Reid up in a hurry. He put an arm up around Hotch, half as an encouragement, and half as a way of grabbing Aaron by the scruff of his neck if he got too frisky too fast. 

Reid wondered what had gotten into Aaron Hotchner. Spencer was mentally calculating how long it had been since they had actually had sex, while Hotch bared his neck and slurped noisily along his throat. Had it really been back in November? Early November? Hell, Reid snickered softly, no wonder Hotch was acting this way. He was probably at the point of humping the furniture, like an anxious, amorous, near-sighted dog. 

“Baby, I’ve missed you so much,” Hotch moaned again, crushing Spencer close, making Reid see stars of pain. Spencer thought his back might snap from how tight Aaron was holding onto him, also from the awkward position in which they were intertwined. Spencer stroked Hotch’s back, and nuzzled his ear. He held on tighter, shifting his hips to ease the pain in his tailbone. Even though Reid was not at all in the mood, it would have been very easy to lie there and let Hotch do whatever he wanted. As anxious as he was, Hotch probably wouldn’t notice. 

A loud knock on the front door made Hotch jolt and curse. He stumbled haphazardly to his feet and nearly tipped over the coffee table. Reid’s brain spun as he pulled himself and his clothes together, picking up his tumbled blanket, running both hands back through his hair even though it was hardly long enough to do more than stand on end or curl over itself once. 

“Someone. At the front door,” Reid breathed. 

“That someone better be dead or on fire,” Aaron growled as he tugged on a robe over his pajamas and stomped towards the knocking sound like he meant to take a swing at whoever had disturbed them. Hotch snapped on the porch light and whipped open the door to find Ethan Mouton on the other side of the screen. They glared hard at each other until Reid ambled out of the tv room and saw who was there. Spencer lit up brightly when he saw his friend. Ethan scratched his neatly-trimmed beard and gave a crooked smile in reply to Reid’s happy face.

“Ethan!?” Reid beamed. 

“Do you know what time it is?” Hotch questioned. 

“Hotch. Open the. The Door. Hotch,” Reid chided tenderly. 

Hotch reluctantly unlocked the screen and let Ethan come inside, but he was not happy about it. The swarthy young man moved gingerly towards Reid, keeping a wary eye on Hotch. Spencer wobbled on his cane, and launched a hug at Ethan which he almost missed. 

“So great. To see you. How are you? What brings you? To DC? Working on. The new album? What?” Reid babbled as Ethan awkwardly returned the hug and then steadied Reid. Spencer did not miss the way Ethan and Hotch were glaring at one another. He laughed nervously to himself. “Have you two. Been introduced? Aaron Hotchner. Ethan Mouton. Partner. Friend. Friend. Partner.” 

“We met at the hospital,” Hotch muttered. “Come in. Close the door. It’s cold out. You’ll give Spencer a terrible chill.”

“Come in. I will make. Coffee for you,” Reid offered. 

“Reid, I can’t stay,” Ethan stammered. “I’m headed to the airport, actually. Due back in the Big Easy by tomorrow night. But I wanted to see you. I wanted to give this to you, ask you to give it a listen, tell me what you think.”

Ethan produced a CD from his pocket. He placed it delicately in Spencer’s hands. 

“I wrote it for you,” he whispered, hugging Reid again before sprinting out the screen door, down the porch, and back to the waiting taxi parked in the driveway. Once he was beside the taxi, he glanced back at the house before he dove into the backseat as if his life depended on getting away as quickly as possible. The taxi peeled backwards out of the driveway and was gone. 

Reid blinked at the disc, and outside into the night. His guard Frank peered around the corner of the house, nodded to Reid, and disappeared again. Hotch closed and locked both the screen and the door once more, and he leaned against the door and pouted. 

“Well,” Reid breathed, staring at the disc. All that was written on it was his name – Spencer. Hard to analyze that, wasn't it? “That was odd. Don’t you think?”

Hotch’s only reply was an extremely sour frown. He was calculating the risks of grabbing that CD, snapping it in half, running upstairs with it, locking himself in the bathroom, and flushing it down the toilet. Or maybe dropping it to the floor right here and stomping it into a million pieces. Or maybe…. he sighed to himself…. maybe he should stop being such a possessive and jealous bastard when it came to his relationship with Reid. 

“Do you like jazz? Do you want to listen with me?” Reid asked. 

“Sure,” Hotch sighed, putting out a hand for the CD. Reid studied him, smiled mostly to himself, and tucked the disc into the big pocket on his robe. Spencer spun on one heel, and headed towards the stairs. Clearly Dr. Spencer Reid had not lost any of his profiling abilities, Hotch mused.


	6. A Sinking Feeling

“God, Reid. I don’t know if I should pour coffee or throw holy water.” 

Reid glanced up at the familiar voice as he was entering the outer room of the FBI’s natatorium on the campus at Quantico. Bad idea to have looked up. He lost his grip on the door handle, and tripped over his cane. Morgan sprang forward to grab the door and open it, and then offered an arm for Reid to lean on. Spencer accepted the arm gratefully, giving a quiet sigh as Derek guided him to a chair and eased him down into it. 

“You look tired,” Morgan amended softly. “Did I get you out of bed? No. You’re in a suit and tie. You weren’t in bed. Why was your cell phone off? I had to call the land line. But you know that. Hi,” he added, throwing both arms around Reid and hugging him. 

Reid nodded, eyes drooping, shoulders rounded, head lowered. “I was up. Had speech therapy this morning,” he whispered. “I am skipping. Regular therapy today. Thanks for the call.”

“Do you have a cold? You sound hoarse,” Morgan worried.

“I was reading. All morning. Tired,” he added, lifting his head. 

“Does the reading help?” Morgan asked, touching his own throat and staring meaningfully at the thin man. 

“It helps,” Reid nodded in reply. “How have you been?” 

“Fine. Busy. Sorry I haven’t seen much of you. We all are. Hotch has had us running ragged, keeping up with the regular workload and scouring over the Trovinger evidence again and again. We miss you. Man, we miss you so much.”

“I miss. You too.”

“When are you coming back? We need you.” 

“As soon as I pass. My physical. I hope March 1.”

“We need you,” Morgan repeated.

“How is everyone?”

“Busy. Tired. Ah, man. I’m sorry. I’m doing it too. Hotch said he does it.”

“Does what?” Reid asked, stifling a yawn.

“He said he cuts his sentences like you do. It’s unconscious. Sorry. Shit. I’ll stop. I swear. How are you, really? Are you eating at all? You’re so thin, Reid.” 

“I am better,” Reid added. 

“You're skin and bones. You look like a feral cat. You need a steak, some of Momma’s chili, maybe a pie or two,” Morgan said, patting Reid’s side. “Better? You're better. Sure. Hey, compared to a month ago, you’re fabulous. Did you bring your swim trunks?” 

Reid nodded, patting his satchel. 

“Let’s go get wet!” Morgan shouted, lifting Reid to his feet and guiding him towards the changing rooms. 

Thankfully there was no one else around. The chilly weather outside had a lot to do with that. No one wanted to get cold and wet in January. The thick, warm, soupy atmosphere inside the natatorium smelled like chlorine and tepid water and radiator heat, and it was making Reid even more sleepy than before. The locker room smelled dreadful too, like stale, wet clothes and urine and grape-scented floor cleaner. 

Morgan gracefully shed his clothes like it was nothing – tie, shirt, shoes, pants, underwear. Then he pulled on his small, tight swim trunks and turned around expectantly. It had taken him approximately ninety seconds to be ready. 

Reid was sitting on his bench, eyes on the floor, sighing quietly. He had taken off his shoes and socks. He had his belt undone. He purposefully did not watch Morgan getting undressed or redressed, because looking at all that masculine perfection made Reid even more self-conscious about his own skeletal physique, not to mention a new crop of healing scars.

“Sorry. Moving slowly,” Reid whispered. Morgan gave an understanding nod. 

“I’ll go jump in the pool, wait for you there?” Derek asked. Reid put a hand on Morgan’s arm. 

“No. Please wait,” Spencer whispered. 

Morgan sat across from Reid on the opposite bench, and watched his friend’s serious face. 

“What is it? Do you want help?” Derek asked. Reid gave him a strange look, somewhere between offended and touched. 

“No. I can do it myself. I want to ask. You a question,” Reid began. He slid off his tie and stared at the floor. 

“A question about what?” Morgan wondered. 

“At the hospital? While I was out?”

“Yeah?” Morgan shuddered. It was not a time that Derek wanted to linger on, clearly. 

“Did Ethan. Come to visit me? Ethan. Mouton. Dark hair. Beard. Thin, like me. My friend Ethan? Did you meet him? In New Orleans? Maybe not.” 

Morgan winced, and Reid sat up a little straighter. 

“Yes. I know Mouton. Ethan came to visit you at the hospital while you were in the coma,” Derek admitted. “Why are you asking about Ethan?”

“He stopped by the house. Late last night. Left me a disc of music. To listen to. He was acting weird. Hotch was acting more weird. Ethan left in a big hurry,” Reid said, watching Morgan’s discomfort increase with every passing word. He hadn’t seen Derek this uncomfortable in a long time. 

“Reid, I know you’re probably angry right now, but you have to cut Hotch some slack over how he handled that situation. He was upset because you were hurt. He was upset about Trovinger being on the loose. He wasn’t in his right mind at the hospital. I’m sure he’s sorry for what happened with Ethan.”

“Why should he? Be Sorry? What happened? Between Hotch and Ethan?” Spencer wondered. 

“Didn’t Hotch tell you what went down?” Morgan wondered. 

“No. But Hotch was moody. The rest of the night. He was tense. Ethan was tense. They were giving each other. Stink eye. Ethan stayed all of. Five minutes. Before dashing off. But Hotch was mad. The rest of the night. He pouted. He snapped at me,” Reid babbled, wishing he had made a better choice of words. Morgan scanned Reid and spotted the freshest bruise on his arm. 

"Everything okay otherwise? All Hotch did was snap, right?" 

"That's all," Reid nodded. "Morgan, he is not. Beating on me. This is all me. And the doors. And my big feet." 

“All right. You knew I would ask. You know you could tell me, right?"

"I know."

"But you need to ask Hotch about this situation with Ethan instead of asking me.”

“Why?” Reid asked. 

“Hotch needs to be the one to explain his actions for himself. I don’t feel right, being in the middle of your personal situation here. It’s not my place to tell you behind his back about what he did, and not give him a chance to explain himself to you, face to face.” 

“Morgan. You’re my friend,” Spencer countered. “I count on you. To tell me the truth. No matter what. You can always tell me. The truth. I will never be mad at you. For being honest with me.”

“Reid, I’m your friend, but Hotch is your partner. You need to give the man a chance to explain himself first. Then I’ll tell you all the truth you want to hear.”

“What did Hotch do?” Reid pleaded. He snorted softly, and then backed up. “Did he take a swing? At Ethan?”

Morgan winced and nodded. The cat was out of the bag. Reid exhaled and frowned as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. 

“I should have. Guessed that,” Spencer grumbled. “Their confrontational. Body stances. Ethan’s wary face. The way Hotch kept….” Reid rolled his right hand into a fist, and continued. “Clenching and unclenching his left hand. Breathing hard. Gritting his teeth.” 

“I’ll give you some privacy to get ready,” Morgan said. 

Before Reid could protest, Derek jumped up, pulled out his phone, and started dialing with a thumb. He moved a few feet away, around the next row of lockers. Reid opened the locker next to Morgan’s, and piled his shoes and socks inside. Derek’s voice was easy to discern.

“Hotch? Are you free for lunch? No. I’m away from my desk. Have you even looked out of your office this morning? I’m over at the pool with Reid. Physical therapy. You want to do lunch later? This is really important. What do you mean you have an appointment? Cancel it. What? Why can’t you cancel it? Oh. Well, I can see where the DC Courts might have a problem with that. Why do you have to go to court? Is it for a case? Oh. No. You’re right, sir. None of my business. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Reid shrugged out of his shirt. He pulled his tee-shirt off slowly, folded it, and put it aside. He felt sorry for Morgan, dealing with Hotch being pissy and irritable on the other end of the phone.

“Well, I’m taking Reid to lunch. I thought I would be polite and ask you to join us. But if you’re going to be that way about it. What? What do you mean I can’t take him to lunch?” Derek demanded in a very hostile tone. “Hotch, this jealousy thing of yours? You need to get a grip on yourself. Oh. Oh. Sorry, man. Reid has to go to court with you? Yeah. Sorry. Okay. I’m sorry if I…” 

Morgan put the phone away. Reid hung up his shirt and his pants, and wiggled into his swim trunks. He hid under a giant towel and hunched down miserably. He felt bad for putting Morgan in the middle of this situation. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all. 

Derek swung back around the lockers and chucked his phone into his own space. It landed in one of his big shoes. Morgan was pouting, and having a hard time hiding his anger. 

“Hotch hung up on me,” Derek reported tersely. 

“What did he say?” Spencer asked. 

“He told me I can’t take you to lunch, because you have to go with him to court in DC. What’s up? Why do you have to go to court?”

Reid stood up from the bench. Morgan put out an arm to steady him, and Spencer leaned on him gratefully. 

“About a case?” Reid hoped, attempting to work up a smile, but the fear rose up instead. Had the ticket for the red light infraction been sent to Hotch’s office instead of to the house? 

“You ready?” Morgan asked. 

“Yeah,” Reid trembled, following Morgan slowly towards the pool room. 

They hadn’t been in the pool for more than twenty minutes before Reid was already done for the day. He pulled himself up on the edge of the concrete, his limbs feeling heavy, and his brain all fuzzy with exhaustion. He wanted nothing so much as a good long nap. 

“You gonna make it?” Morgan worried, lingering, treading water at Reid’s feet.

“ ‘M okay,” Reid assured him. Morgan smiled at the facile lie, then he threw himself into backwards arc, rolling over, transitioning into a forward stroke that cut gracefully through the water. Reid watched Morgan with a mixture of awe and jealousy. 

The natatorium doors banged open, and Hotch came rushing in, looking incongruous in his navy suit and navy tie and dark wingtips. Morgan touched the far end of the pool and jetted back towards Spencer. He surfaced at Reid’s feet and slithered up onto the edge beside him, dripping water everywhere. Reid hid his wet and bedraggled self in the large towel draped over his shoulders. Aaron raced over to where they were sitting. He was frantic with concern.

“Reid! We have to go! The appointment is for 2.” 

Reid glanced sleepily up at Hotch. 

“We have an appointment?” he croaked, coughing, covering his mouth. 

“Reid,” Hotch urged. 

“Take it easy, Hotch,” Morgan interjected. 

“You shaved?” Reid noted, cocking his head upwards at Hotch. “Changed your suit. Changed your tie. Mmm. You smell nice,” he whispered when Hotch knelt down and hugged him around the waist.

“Will you hurry?” Hotch muttered impatiently. 

“Why do I have to go?” Reid complained. Hotch pulled a blindfold out of his pocket, wrapping it around Spencer’s eyes. 

“It’s a surprise,” he purred in Reid’s ear. 

“Ooooh. I like this surprise,” Reid said playfully, a crooked leer curling his mouth. 

“It’s not that kind of surprise,” Hotch clarified, hugging Reid around the waist again to haul him to his feet. 

"Aw," Reid sulked, playing like he was disappointed, but inwardly feeling relieved because he didn't have enough energy to stand up, let alone indulge in any sort of fun and games that might involve blindfolds. 

"You gonna drag him into court in his swim trunks?" Morgan joked. 

“He can dress on the way. I have a suit for him in the car.”

“Hotch. I need my phone. I need a shower. ‘M all wet and stinky. I smell like. Sweat. Chlorine,” Reid whined, stumbling to keep up. 

“No time. We have to hurry.” 

“Morgan?” Reid called out unsurely, clutching his cell phone, almost dropping his wet towel.

“Don’t worry, Reid. I’ll gather up your things. Hotch, drive safely.”


	7. The Surprise

Hotch pulled into an open spot, threw the car into park, and whipped the blindfold off Reid’s face. Spencer blinked around, turning his head side to side. 

“I guess you know why we’re here,” Aaron whispered nervously. 

Reid stared at the big sign which read: District of Columbia Moultrie Courthouse. His face went white with fear, and quickly changed to red with anger.

“You look mad,” Hotch shivered. 

“You son of a bitch!” Reid scowled. 

“What is the matter with you?” Hotch demanded.

“I can’t believe you would. Do this to me,” Reid pouted. “I will pay. For the ticket. You didn’t have to. Drag me down here. And embarrass me.”

“What ticket?” Aaron blanched. 

“Don’t play innocent. With me. Obviously. You know. Or you wouldn’t have….” Reid breathed, spat out words, breathed again, spat more words, in quick staccato fashion. 

“REID?! What ticket? How could you get a ticket?! You are not supposed to be driving!!”

“Aaron!! Hotchner!!” Spencer shouted back. “I AM NOT! YOUR! CHILD!” 

“Come inside. We will talk about this later,” Hotch grumbled. 

The angrier Reid became, the more pauses he took in his sentences. Aaron thought perhaps his therapist might have a point about the symptoms being psychosomatic, and tied to Reid's emotional state. But that was a problem he would have to tackle at another time. 

Aaron leapt out of the SUV, slammed the door, and ran around to the passenger side. He tugged Reid out. All his anger faded instantly away. He smiled lovingly at Reid as he hitched up his partner’s loose pants around his waist, and tidied his shirt, tucking in the tails. He glanced into the car – Reid’s wet swim trunks were folded neatly in the rear floorboard. Hotch unconsciously licked his lips, unable to stop himself from thinking the obvious. Reid wasn’t wearing anything under those loose slacks. Hotch buttoned Reid’s suit jacket together and caressed his thin waist. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe. 

“I like you in that suit,” Hotch murmured hungrily. “I like you even better out of that suit.” 

“Hotch. Why are we here? Do you need my help. Testifying. On a case?” Spencer asked as Aaron locked the SUV, stuck the keys in one pocket, thought better of it, and stuck the keys in his other pocket. 

“No. It’s not about a court case. It’s a surprise,” Hotch chuckled as he shook his head, helping Reid up the concrete steps. 

Spencer kept quiet as Aaron walked him along, supporting him, hugging him, holding him. Aaron was hurrying Spencer but making sure he was steady the entire way. Hotch opened the glass doors, ushered Reid inside, and paused, checking the building directory, hands trembling, giddy smile appearing and disappearing and reappearing. What in the hell?

“This way,” Hotch gulped. 

They took the elevator and got out on the fourth floor. Reid hesitated, holding onto Hotch’s hand like a nervous child. He had read the directory as Hotch had been reading it, and the Traffic Violations Division had been listed very prominently on the third floor. Why were they on the fourth floor?

“What is this all about?” Reid asked timidly. 

“HOTCH!” someone shouted from down the hallway. 

Reid flinched when he heard the familiar voice, and he pressed himself against the wall. Aaron pulled a small red carnation out of an interior jacket pocket. He fluffed up the petals, and tucked the flower into Reid’s lapel. He pulled out a second carnation, putting it in to his own lapel. Hotch took Reid’s hand, and kissed the backs of his fingers. Reid stared at the red boutonniere and back up at Hotch. At the boutonniere. Back at Hotch. At the boutonniere. Back at Hotch. Heels clattered towards them, breaking the spell of the moment. 

Dr. Alex Blake was standing there, beaming happily at Reid. She kissed his cheek, took his free hand, and tugged Reid and Hotch both towards the glass door she had come running from. Another couple was exiting the suite. As the door swung wide, the words ‘Marriage Bureau’ stood out in block letters. 

Reid froze in place in the middle of the hallway and caused a serious collision. The tangled couple split up around Reid and Hotch and Blake and reformed on the other side of them, hardly noticing them at all. Blake was the first to speak. 

“Hotch, the judge is waiting. He let another couple go ahead of you. I assured him you were en route. Undoubtedly you were delayed by traffic. I’ve got your paperwork for you. Your civil ceremony request is right here. You can request a copy of the marriage certificate afterwards, ” Blake said, giving Hotch a page. “Don’t you look nice?” she added to Spencer, tenderly adjusting Reid’s crooked tie, taking a swipe at his hair with her long, thin fingers. 

“Surprise,” Aaron said softly, looking timidly to the ground and back up again. Reid remained utterly speechless. “Could we have a minute?” Hotch asked. Blake nodded. 

“You need to hurry,” Alex urged, walking back towards the opening door. 

“How long have you? Have you been? How long have you been? Plotting this?” Reid stammered at Hotch. 

“I submitted the request for the civil ceremony a few weeks ago. Back in December,” Hotch admitted. 

"December?" Reid echoed, blown away by what kind of unparalleled optimism it had taken on Hotch's part to be able to fill out the paperwork for a civil ceremony with a partner who at that point had been lying flat on his back in a hospital bed in a vegetative state. Had this surprise been the only thing that had kept Hotch from losing his mind? 

Blake reappeared, looking anxious. 

“Boys, you’re up next,” she called. "It's now or never." 

Hotch went to move, but Reid held fast. 

“Wait,” Reid panicked, trembling. 

“What?” Hotch whispered. 

“This is…. This is serious. This is…..”

“Yes. I know it’s serious.”

“No. This is… this is… you can’t… I….”

“This is why I didn’t tell you in advance,” Hotch murmured, brushing Reid’s shaking arm. “I didn’t want you to panic and flee. Turn into my runaway groom. Have to launch a manhunt for you.”

“This is not. A passing fancy. This is for forever,” Reid stammered. 

“Yes,” Hotch agreed. 

“ ‘When I get married, I want to be very married’,” Reid blurted. 

“Yes,” Hotch agreed, smiling broadly. “I couldn’t agree more, and I had no idea you were an Audrey Hepburn fan.”

“We can’t do this,” Reid shook his head. 

“Why not?” Hotch worried. 

“We’re not prepared.”

“Prepared? How much more prepared do we need to be?” Hotch chuckled. 

“There are traditions. To be observed. It’s bad luck. Not to do these things. You aren’t supposed to see me. The night before. We can’t rush into. These things. There are rules. To be observed. HOTCH! Our anniversary? 1-3-13?” 

“I didn’t think you’d be the sort to put much faith in traditions and superstitions,” Hotch teased. 

“Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue,” Reid fluttered quickly through the words. 

“Relax. I’m not a complete novice. I got that one covered,” Hotch promised. He adjusted his dark blue tie, and pulled open his jacket to show Reid a trio of pens lined up in his interior breast pocket, probably the same one the boutonnieres had been stuffed into. Reid knew one pen belonged to Dave Rossi, and one pen had been plucked from Reid's own satchel (his mother's pen - had Hotch known that?) The third pen, Reid did not recognize It had both their names inscribed on it. Hotch closed his jacket, kissed Spencer’s hand, and guided him along. 

“Aaron. You should have. Told me in advance. We could have. Written vows,” Spencer lamented. “We could have. Made this very special. We could have....” 

“Spencer, shhhh. I love you. We don’t need to recite special vows. All we have to say is ‘I do’,” Aaron whispered.

“I love you too,” Spencer whispered back.


	8. Putting Two and Two Together

“Hey, Garcia? Do you know why Hotch was really headed over to DC this afternoon? If it had been a court case, he'd have taken his briefcase, but his brief is in his office with his go-bag,” Morgan said as Penelope came bouncing out of the elevator around 3:30 p.m.

“He’s not back yet?” she asked, tilting her head, pushing down the big red cupid that was pinned to her sweater. The bright-faced, puckering creature looked ready to leap off her shoulder. 

“No, he’s not back yet," Morgan lamented. 

“I didn’t think he’d be there that long.”

“Do you know why he was headed over there?” Morgan persisted.

“He wouldn’t say. But now that you mention it, maybe he wasn't planning to be back to the office today. I asked if he wanted me to go over the transcripts from the Davies Interview with him again, but he said no, that he had to be in DC Civil Court at 2 p.m., and that we could reach him later by cell phone if we needed him, but only not to call unless it was a matter of life and death, which, when isn’t it a matter of life and death when we call him off-hours, right? He was jittery, now that you mention it, which is unusual for Hotch,” Penelope decided. 

“I haven’t been able to find Dr. Blake either. Where did she wander off to?” Morgan complained. 

"Morgan, why would I know where Blake is?" Garcia replied. "It's not like I have a GPS tracker stuck on all of you, that I track your movements night and day."

"You don't?" Morgan questioned. 

“Maybe they both got spring fever,” Rossi suggested. 

“It’s January, Rossi. They are not allowed to have spring fever yet,” Morgan replied sourly. 

“Dr. Blake had a hot date,” Torg replied, closing his folder and pushing his chair back a little so he could join the conversation. 

“Hot date? Torg, she's married, remember?” Garcia scolded. 

“She was all tarted up, wearing a nice suit and heels. A skirt even,” Torg said.

“Maybe she had a court case too, and she and Hotch car-pooled?” Rossi suggested.

“Tarted up?” Garcia asked Torg, giving him an intense stare. “Okay, Swedish Meatball, what do you consider ‘tarted up’? I'm dying to know,” she laughed. 

“Dr. Blake usually favors a business-casual dress code of neutral slacks and a jacket and a teeshirt. But when I saw her, she was in a very nice skirt and jacket and heels. She even had on earrings. She’s usually not that concerned about presenting an over-polished physical appearance. I would guess that she prefers being judged by her mind rather than her face or her bustline." 

"It's so cute, watching baby profilers profile," Garcia cooed insincerely. 

Karl raised a brow and carried on. "When I saw Dr. Blake in the lunch room, she was dressed to the nines, and touching up her blush," Karl said. 

“So?” Garcia defended. 

“It was like when I was in high school, and my mom was dating the local police chief. She claimed I needed a good male role model. I always knew when they had a date, because I would come home from school, and she would be dolled up. It was cute, but also kinda wrong, you know, like who is this lady, and where is my mom?” Torg rambled. “It felt weird to see my mom dressed up, looking so pretty.”

“Oh my child, you have such issues,” Garcia tittered, shaking her head sadly. 

“Anyway, back to your original question, when I walked in the break room, Dr. Blake was touching up her makeup. She was also in the middle of a call to a florist, having flowers delivered to a friend,” Torg added. 

“Maybe she was going to a funeral?” Morgan wondered. 

“I don’t think so. She was dictating what to write on the card, and distinctly said it was for the happy occasion,” Torg explained. "She was specific about the flowers she wanted in the arrangement too." 

“The happy occasion?” Rossi put his feet down on the floor. His interest was piqued.

“Clearly not a funeral then, right?” Torg insisted. 

"Unless it was someone she hated," Morgan offered. 

“You know, Hotch changed before he ran out of here,” Dave said. 

“Was he in a skirt?” Garcia grinned. 

“No, but he showered, and changed into a dark blue suit and a navy tie,” Rossi observed. “I thought he must have spilled coffee on himself." 

“He shaved, didn’t he? Reid noticed that at the pool. Hotch shaved, changed clothes, put on fresh cologne,” Morgan commented.

“Bossman is the supreme king of neat-niks when it comes to his personal appearance. I’m sure he wanted to look nice for court,” Garcia suggested. Torg gasped. “What, Meatball? Did you have another deep thought? Did it hurt?” Penelope asked dryly.

“Hotch is having an affair with Dr. Blake!” Karl exclaimed. Garcia sighed at him and shook her head, but Morgan laughed outright. 

“You kick that evil thought out of your head, right this minute. Don't even think things like that!" Morgan kidded, smacking Torg in the shoulder. 

“Aaron asked to borrow my lucky pen,” Dave said. “He didn’t write with it. He put it in his jacket pocket. Promised he’d bring it back. What's really weird is that he already had two pens in his pocket. I saw them with my own eyes.”

“BAU TEAM!?” Erin Strauss opened her office door and stood in the portal, calling out loudly. She must have seen them crowded around yapping. 

“Ma’am?” Rossi replied as the rest of the team turned around to face the assistant director.

“Have any of you seen Agent Hotchner this afternoon?” Strauss asked. 

“He headed over to DC for a court case, ma’am,” Garcia answered. 

“He’s not answering his cell phone. Would one of you track him down, and tell him I had to deny his request for vacation? There’s a case coming down the wire now. A hostage standoff situation in Savannah. I need you to locate him, get him back to the office right away. Right away!” she insisted before disappearing into her lair once more.

“Ma’am?” Garcia called out. Strauss returned. “How much vacation did Hotch ask for?” Penelope wondered. 

“Two whole weeks. I’m sorry, but it’s not possible right now. Not with this case. I need him, I need all of you, to get down to Georgia right away. I’ll bring you details as soon as I have them. Find Hotchner and get him back in here, on the double!” Strauss shouted before she slammed her office door closed with a loud bang. 

“Hotch asks for two weeks off, and doesn’t tell any of us?” Torg muttered. 

“Hotch never takes that much time off,” Morgan added, sharing the confusion. 

“Certainly not right after he’s just returned to work,” Garcia commented. 

“Something blue—the tie. Something borrowed—my pen. Two weeks’ vacation…..” Rossi pondered, slowly putting two and two together. His pondering was contagious. 

“Say it again,” Penelope said. 

“Something blue…” Rossi began. 

Garcia gasped like she’d been struck by lightning. She clutched Morgan’s shoulder, threw herself down on his desk chair, and scattered pages to get to his keyboard. She needed on his computer, and fast!

“What is it, Baby Girl?” Morgan asked. 

“That refrain sounds decidedly familiar,” Rossi laughed. 

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue,” Garcia babbled. 

“What are you doing?” Morgan asked.

“I’m pulling up the DC civil court schedule. Right there! Look! January 3rd at 2 p.m. Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid. Oh my goodness!” Penelope rambled. The entire team leaned over her shoulder, and read her screen, and gasped as one. 

"Marriage Bureau?!" Morgan exclaimed.


	9. Hot Pursuit

“Mr. and Mr. Hotchner,” Aaron smiled across the SUV, and reached over to take Reid’s left hand. He admired the golden band he had placed there on Spencer’s ring finger not twenty minutes ago. It glittered beautifully right next to the first golden band he had placed there almost a year ago. 

“Dr. and Mr. Reid,” Spencer corrected him, also admiring the ring. Aaron bristled and raised a brow.

“Why would I take your name?” Aaron asked. 

“Why would I take yours?” Spencer answered. 

“That’s how it’s done, traditionally," Hotch insisted. 

Reid gave Hotch a sideways glance which made Aaron sputter.

“I think we can both agree this is anything but traditional," Reid grinned. 

“Suppose you're right. Guess we’ll have to…. you know…. come to some kind of agreement on that later. Settle it in one fashion or another,” Hotch mused. 

“I guess so,” Reid snickered. "Mr. Bossy Pants." 

“We could thumb wrestle over it,” Aaron offered, twiddling with Reid’s thumb in order to pin it down.

“We could play a few hands of cards,” Spencer replied.

“Yeah, sure. In your dreams, pal. Oh, I forgot. My phone’s on vibrate,” Hotch said, watching the device dance around in the tiny compartment meant for sunglasses. Aaron let go of Reid’s hand, and reached for the vibrating phone while smiling at Spencer. His eyes were not on the road. Reid should have known what was coming. They pulled directly through the intersection on a red light. 

The quick-bright flash of the red light camera made Hotch gasp. Reid gasped too, filling with dread and déjà vu. Hotch picked up his intruding phone and put the device to his ear. 

“Hello?” Hotch grumbled. “Shit. No, Morgan. It's not you. I just went through a red light, and we set off the camera. Shit,” Aaron complained. “I think I got flashed. No. I’m sure. We got flashed. Morgan? I’m sorry. What is it?”

The sirens lit up the back window before Morgan could get a word in, and Hotch wouldn’t have heard him anyway. For a second, Hotch thought he might have hit the siren button on the dash when he went to reach for his phone. He set his phone in his lap, regardless of the fact that Morgan was talking away. Hotch touched the dash to disengage the lights and sirens, only to realize that he was in his personal car, not a government car. Hotch had not hit the button to activate the sirens when he was reaching for the phone, because there were no sirens to activate in his own private car. 

That meant the lights and sirens belonged to someone else. Hotch and Reid simultaneously spotted the police car behind them. Hotch picked up his phone and put it to his ear again. 

“Morgan?” Hotch whispered. “I can’t talk now. I have to go. Yes. You are hearing sirens. No. I can’t talk now. Bye.”

Hotch put the phone back in the tiny compartment on the dash. He cast a quick glance at Spencer in the passenger seat. Reid was giving him a look somewhere between nervous amusement and blood-chilled fear. Aaron pulled over to the side of the street, and the DC cop followed. Annoyed drivers swerved around them. They would have the terrible misfortune to get pulled over on a major artery into the District. Aaron's fingers went carefully into his interior jacket pocket. 

“Shit. My license. My wallet. My badge. My credentials,” Hotch moaned. 

“In your. Other jacket?” Reid whispered, biting his bottom lip. 

“Yes,” Hotch wailed softly. 

Spencer reached over and frisked Hotch’s side. 

“You remembered. Your gun. But not your license?” Reid chided him. 

“Shut up,” Hotch warned. Reid cackled wickedly for a second or two. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help the amusement breaking through. Hotch was furious. “Reid!? This is serious. It is not a laughing matter. I ran a red light. I was on the phone. I don’t have my license. I am in deep trouble. It's not funny. I hope you have enough cash on hand to bail me out of jail tonight.” 

The cop was taking her time getting out of the vehicle. Reid feared she was running the SUV’s plates through the system, and he knew exactly what she was going to find when she did that search, too. His amusement dried up. He was shrinking down in his seat more and more with each passing second. By the time the officer put boots to pavement, and swaggered her way over to the driver’s side of the car, Reid had had too long to ponder his fate, and Hotch had had an eternity to sweat and to stew and to froth over the uncomfortable conversation that was about to take place. Right before the officer got to their window, Reid put a hand into Hotch’s hand, and said the sweetest words to him. 

“Relax. Remember that I love you.” 

“What are you talking about?” Hotch frowned. 

“Don’t take a swing at the lady. Or you really will be in deep trouble.” 

“Take a swing at her?” Hotch wailed. “Why would I take a swing at her?” 

The officer was at their window, and she saw them arguing. She was frowning. Maybe she had even heard them arguing. 

“Morgan told me. You hit Ethan,” Reid replied.

“Can we talk about that later?” Aaron growled.

“Yes. We will. Be talking. About that later,” Reid assured him tartly. The police officer tapped the window, and Hotch rolled it down.

“Sir? I’m sorry. Ma’am? Yes?” Hotch said. 

“Mr. Hotchner. I’m Officer Durant. How are you this evening?”

“Fine,” Hotch peeped. 

Reid winced. She knew Hotch’s name. She had already run the plates. Oh no. Spencer dreaded the shit storm that about to launch. 

“In a hurry, are you?" 

"Just got married," Hotch smiled, flashing the ring on his own finger. 

"Congratulations," Durant said dryly. 

"I can show you the paperwork. It's in the backseat," Aaron offered. 

"Don't bother. That's not what this is about. You've committed two red light infractions in three days’ time, Mr. Hotchner. That’s something of an accomplishment,” the police officer drawled, giving him a serious frown. 

“Two infractions?” Aaron breathed. He turned and shot Reid a look which made Spencer shrink down in his seat and blushed brightly.

“Two infractions. Yes, sir. My computer indicates you were ticketed for a red-light infraction at New York Avenue and Bladensburg Road in the wee hours of Tuesday morning.”

“Was I?” Hotch nodded along, giving Reid another stare, narrowing his dark eyes, raising his brows. Reid knew he was in trouble when they got home. 

"None of my business why you were out in the wee hours of Tuesday morning," Durant added. 

"Mm hmm?" Hotch whispered, glaring hard to Reid. 

“But here you are now, another red light, another infraction. Mr. Hotchner, what is your problem that you cannot seem to go the speed limit, or stop for red lights?” 

“I don’t know what to say, Officer Durant,” Hotch replied. “There really is no excuse for what I’ve done.” 

“Additionally, Mr. Hotchner, are you aware it’s illegal to use a handheld cell phone while operating a vehicle in the District?” Durant asked. 

“Yes, ma’am. I am aware,” Hotch admitted. 

“Yet I observed you holding your cell phone to your ear seconds after you proceeded above the speed limit through the intersection, failing to come to a complete stop as the red light dictated?”

Reid looked out the passenger window. He could see a small blue Nissan had pulled to the shoulder in the next block. Spaulding rolled down the window and leaned to the side, glancing back at them. She gave a tiny wave. He gave a tiny wave back. Spaulding put her car in park, got out, locked it, and started to walk back in their direction. She was fighting a grin. 

Hotch’s phone vibrated again in the dashboard compartment. 

“Is it okay if I answer that? It might be from the office. I'm a federal agent. FBI? We both are actually,” he tested the officer, who gave him a dirty look. 

“No, Mr. Hotchner. Your phone call can wait,” Office Durant replied. “Would you step out of your vehicle, sir, and voluntarily submit to a pat-down?”

"Pat-down?!" Hotch's voice dipped low, and his face went from cooperative to offended in a flash. Reid gulped audibly. Spaulding had better walk fast. This was about to get ugly. 

Hotch's phone buzzed again, and Reid's began to buzz inside his pants pocket.


	10. Murder Never Sleeps

Hotch and Reid rode the elevator in complete silence, Aaron on one side, Spencer on the other. Hotch was glowing with fury and shame and annoyance. Reid, on the other hand, was quietly humming while smiling at the ceiling. 

“I can’t believe Strauss refused to let me have vacation time,” Hotch muttered.

“You are. The BAU’s most skilled negotiator,” Reid pointed out. "She needs you. In Savannah." 

“Bullshit. Dave taught me everything I know. He could handle this situation without me. Reid, not a word to the team about Officer Durant. I mean it,” Hotch insisted when they approached their floor.

“Not a word,” Reid promised. 

“Thank Captain Spaulding for saving my bacon.”

Reid giggled playfully, “I will thank her. For you.”

“I’m really sorry that we’ll have to delay….” 

“It’s okay.”

“The honeymoon,” Hotch finished his sentence.

“Hotch, it’s okay,” Reid repeated. “Duty calls.” 

“Murder never sleeps,” Hotch sighed. 

“You lucky bastard,” Reid moaned. “Take me with you.”

“No. You need to pass your physical before you can return to work. I mean it. We are doing this by the book from now on. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Reid pouted. 

"There can't be the least little hint of favoritism on my part for you, or any of your parts."

"I know." 

“I’ll be back as soon as the situation is resolved, and then I’ll take the two weeks vacation, and we will get away, even if I have to go over Strauss’s head to do it. Or over her dead body, for that matter. I promise you, I’m going to give you a proper honeymoon. I'll even carry you over the damned threshold.” 

Reid wobbled sideways, and leaned his head on Hotch. He put an arm around Aaron and patted his opposite shoulder. 

“Officer Durant so wanted. To put you in handcuffs,” Spencer whispered. 

“Spaulding is one smooth talker, isn’t she?” Hotch replied. 

“No license, no registration, no badge….” Reid lamented. “Officer Durant was aching. To slap you in cuffs. Take you down. Show you who was boss.”

“Mmm. You. Me. Handcuffs. Later?” Hotch asked with a hint of a smile. His fury was beginning to burn away. 

“I’ll show you who is boss, Mr. Dr. Reid,” Spencer whispered.

“Mr. Hotchner,” Aaron elbowed him gently. 

“Hotchner Reid?” 

“Reid Hotchner?” 

“We are never going to settle this. Are we?” Reid laughed. 

"Reid?" Hotch rumbled. 

"What?" Spencer wondered. 

"About Ethan?" 

"Yes?" 

"We're going to talk about him later too." 

"Yes, we are," Reid warned. "You bet your ass. We are. I've had enough. Of your jealous fits." 

The shiny silver doors jumped open. A phalanx of angry faces stared into the open elevator car. 

“Aaron Hotchner!”

“Agent Hotchner!”

“HOTCH!”

“Boss!?”

They chorused as one exclamation. Reid slowly stood up straight, dropping his hand behind Hotch, resting it on his waist instead of his shoulder. Strauss, Morgan, Rossi, and Torg were all standing there, hands on hips, arms crossed over their chests, or otherwise indicating they had been impatiently awaiting Aaron’s reappearance. 

“Why is your phone off?” Strauss fired the first shot. 

“I can explain,” Hotch started.

“Don’t bother! Get your gear, gather your team, and get in the air, before I lose my last shred of patience!” Strauss boomed, pushing a folder into Hotch’s hands and storming away. 

“Let’s go,” Hotch said deeply.

“Not so fast,” Dave murmured, reaching inside the elevator to hit the stop button. Morgan took a step forward to board the car, but Garcia appeared out of nowhere and bustled past them all, setting Torg to one side, Rossi to the other, and finally pushing Morgan back outside of the car too. 

“Aaron Hotchner, this is not kosher,” Penelope said, hands on hips. “This is simply not done.”

“What are you talking about?” Hotch asked, clearing his throat. Garcia plucked the carnation out of Reid’s lapel and waved it at Hotch. 

"This!" Garcia howled. 

“I can explain,” Hotch repeated. 

“No. No, you can’t explain,” Garcia chided, tucking Reid's carnation back in place. “You kidnap Reid, you creep away from work, and do this on the sly? You don’t even give me the chance to dress up, to throw rice, to dance, to drink, to celebrate the happy occasion?”

“I didn’t even get a chance to do a proper bachelor party, for either of you,” Morgan lamented behind Garcia. 

"Can I have my lucky pen back?" Rossi poked. Torg just stared, silent hurt in his blue eyes. 

“Sorry, but as a private and personal moment between two people, I decided I would rather keep our civil ceremony private and personal, and between two people,” Aaron replied sternly, fumbling into his pocket and giving Rossi back the pen in question. 

“You invited Dr. Blake!” Garcia wailed. 

“I needed a witness!” Hotch retorted. 

“I’m a witness!” Garcia bawled loudly. 

“A witness who could keep silent,” Hotch amended. Garcia gasped out, offended. 

“Baby Girl, I hate to interrupt you mid-fit, but we don’t have time do dish this out right here,” Morgan warned. "We have work to do." 

“This is so not finished,” Garcia scolded, pointing a warning finger at Hotch, and taking Reid by the arm. “Come on, Boo. I’ll take you home, and grill you for all the salient details. They’ve got a plane to catch.” 

"Reid, your satchel and clothes are by my desk," Morgan said. 

"Thanks," Spencer smiled. He was going to step off the elevator, but Hotch caught and held his arm. 

“Not to be rude…” 

“Any more rude that you already are?” Garcia scolded Hotch. 

“But would you give us a moment alone?” Hotch said, motioning them all out of the elevator, which was beginning to ding and bing and make a wide variety of alarm noises. Torg got out of the way at once. Rossi and Morgan backed up, but Garcia did not, at least until Morgan took her by the hem of her sweater and dragged her gently backwards. 

“Make it snappy, Hotch. We gotta get to Savannah on the double,” Rossi interjected. Torg was watching Strauss’s office door, darting scared eyes back and forth between the elevator and the office.

“Someone grab my go-bag and other jacket from my office. I’ll meet you downstairs,” Hotch said. 

“What about….” Morgan motioned inside. 

“Take the next car,” Hotch smiled at Morgan, touching the buttons to close the door. The dinging and binging stopped as the silver doors slid closed once more. Morgan, Rossi, Torg, and Garcia all blinked at their reflections. Morgan reached out and touched the up/down arrows again. 

“He does know they have cameras in the elevators, right?” Torg asked softly. 

“Hustle over and grab Hotch’s things, would you?” Rossi poked Karl in the arm. 

“Why me?” Torg asked. 

“Because at my age, son, I don’t hustle,” Rossi replied. "I can amble, mosey, and dawdle, but hustle doesn't happen much any more." 

“Aren’t we going to wait for Dr. Blake before we take off?” Torg called out as he dashed back across the bullpen and climbed over the railing to get into Hotch’s office. He was back in no time, juggling a bag, a briefcase, and a jacket. 

“I texted her to meet us at the airfield,” Rossi called back. 

“Garcia? We’ll call once we’re in the air,” Morgan said. Penelope nodded to Derek as the next elevator car arrived. 

“Be safe, my babies,” Garcia said before bustling away.


	11. Epilogue - Officially Married

When the elevator doors snapped closed, Hotch tugged Reid hungrily into his arms. He quickly raced through Spencer’s shirt buttons, and was about to land a lustful kiss, when he was greeted by a pair of narrowed amber eyes. A set of sharp, pointed fingers were gouging him in the chest, pushing him in the opposite direction. 

Some animals in the wild puff up to warn you of danger. Others animals turn vibrant, poisonous colors. Other creatures will shake rattles, or bare their claws, or flash bright feathers, or raise their back hairs. When you are on the wrong side of Dr. Spencer Reid, he will give you a malevolent, reptilian glare to warn you your life was in danger if you continue on the unwise path you had chosen. 

“Aaron Hotchner. Unhand me. We are so not fucking. In this elevator,” Reid bit off every word. 

“You’re kidding me,” Hotch panted. It was clear from his tone though that Reid was not kidding, not in the slightest. 

“Cameras. Audio listening devices. Who knows what other kinds of security measures,” Reid counted off. “We might as well. Do it in the Director’s office!” 

“But…but I…” Hotch pouted, prowling fingers inside Reid’s jacket. His eyes dropped below Reid’s waist, and all he could think about was the fact Reid was naked under that suit. He pined shamelessly, fell to his knees, and reached for Reid’s buckle. 

“AARON! Our first sexual encounter! As married partners! Is not going to be! In the elevator at work! Stop touching me!” Reid yelled, smacking his fingers. 

“Jesus H. Christ! Now I know we’re officially married,” Hotch laughed harshly, standing up, and releasing the powerful grip he had on Reid. He retreated to the other side of the elevator. Reid slowly buttoned up his shirt again, straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair. 

“I want a bed. A glass of wine. Soft lights. A bit of music,” Spencer whispered. 

“Ethan’s music?” 

“I liked it. It was nice. No one's ever written music for me before. I at least want a bed,” Spencer lamented. “I do not want. Three minutes. Of rough groping. Half dressed. Standing up. Worried when the doors. Might open. I want…”

“Fine. All right. Quit your bitching. I understand,” Hotch sighed. 

“Fine fine okay fine? Or fine I hate you forever okay fine?” Reid asked.

“Okay!” Hotch shouted.

"Fine!" Reid shouted back.

"Sorry," Hotch whispered immediately. 

"Me too," Reid echoed. "When you come back. We’ll do this right. We'll do this properly,” Reid whispered, his anger deflating. He nestled against Hotch’s side, nosing a kiss to his chin.

“Do you realize it’s been weeks, months…..” Hotch whimpered, nosing a kiss in return, hands roaming, squeezing, kneading.

“I know,” Reid soothed. 

“God, I miss you, Spencer,” Hotch whined. 

“I miss you too,” Reid whispered. 

“I’m dying here,” Hotch complained. “Promise me, when I come home from this case, I can have you all to myself.”

“Yes. I promise,” Spencer hummed as Aaron nuzzled him. “When you come home." 

"Pay attention to the news, Mr. Hotchner. You are about to witness the fastest hostage negotiation in Bureau history." 

"Be careful, Mr. Dr. Reid," Spencer pleaded. 

"Sleep naked," Hotch grinned roguishly. "I'll be back by tomorrow morning."


End file.
